Battlefield: 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant

by Corpsman Halo

When three soldiers with no connected backstory with each other are transported to the world of Remnant, they are forced to work together to survive what this strange world has to offer. Armed only with the weapons they were transported with, the smarts (Not really, they're dumb), and a whole bunch of vodka, they brave through the world as they try to find a way back home.

4. Chapter 4: We got Contact!

To enhance your experience for this hardly worked-on intro (Not really), I highly suggest you play Mokusei, made by RichaadEB (All credit is to him, I do not own the music. Please have mercy), to ensure you reach maximum satisfaction from these words painting a picture in your mind. Now, enjoy.

Note: The timestamp is corresponding with the paragraph below it. For example, The first one has no music, but the second one is the start of the intro music. Just thought it had to be known.

A serene morning unfolds as sunlight glistens and flowers sway, wildlife thriving in the tranquility. Yet, amidst this peace, a lone Beowolf prowls, eyeing a fawn and its mother. Its predatory gaze sharpens, preparing to strike.

00:00-00:10

The Beowolf's ears twitch as a low rumble breaks the silence. It turns around as its eyes widen in surprise before letting out a loud yelp as it attempts to flee. Only for an armored buggy to suddenly burst through the foliage, screams of excitement and terror coming from it as it crushes the Beowolf under its wheels and speeds onward. Leaving the crushed corpse behind like roadkill on a lone highway

00:10-00:21

"Battlefield 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant!"

00:21-00:36

Semyon "Seeker" Zaytsev - Played by Author #3

Alan "Gremlin" Borowski - Played by Author #2

David "Halo" Simmons - Played by Author #1

Professor Ozpin, played by Shannon McCormick

Professor Goodwitch, played by Kathleen Zueluch

All other characters are people I've kidna- People I found who volunteered for this project. Please, don't call the FBI again.

00:31-00:47

Next, the scene cuts to Team RWBY and JNPR standing atop a pile of rubble. Battling against an endless swarm of Grimm valiantly as they fight on. But just as they are about to be overwhelmed, our heroes' vehicle soars through the air, crashing into the fray while both parties watch them crash into the horde. With David clinging to the side of the vehicle, Semyon gripping the wheel tightly with steely resolve, and Alan laughing maniacally as he unleashes a torrent of bullets from the mounted MG. Causing chaos to erupt and providing just the distraction for Team RWBY and JNPR to regroup and join the fight.

00:47-00:57

The scene shifts to a grand conference room where leaders of Remnant debate fervently over a video that shows a group of mysterious aircraft decimating a fleet of airships. As they start to shout amongst each other, an agitated Atlas councilmen demand immediate military action against these unknown attackers as one half the table echoes his call while the other half urges for diplomacy.

All while a general with graying hair watches silently, his eyes piercing through the chaos of the room as he sighs and shakes his head.

00:58-01:07

Next, we see Vale, once a jewel of Remnant, being overrun by Grimm of various types, ranging from beowolves to ursai. Huntsmen and huntresses valiantly fight everywhere from the streets to the rooftops, but are gradually pushed to the brink of defeat as they find themselves cornered, ready to make a final last stand.

Suddenly, as all hope seems lost, a sudden burst tracer fire rains from above. Mowing down the Grimm like they were blades of grass against a scythe as they fall in the dozens. Looking up, the hunters and huntresses watch as various Condors descend with soldiers from them and rappelling down into the fray.

One however, holding a large flag with red and white stripes with a blue box in the top left-hand corner with white stars, extends a hand to a fallen huntress. Offering to help her up while she stares back at him,

01:07-01-19

Suddenly, all eyes turn to a colossal Grimm, part man, part horse, roaring as more of those creatures begin to charge forth toward them. The newly arrived soldiers, noticing the new threat, quickly take positions as various vehicles on land and in the sky follow suit. Ready to provide support when needed.

The huntsmen and huntresses, recovering from the shock of what just happened, reorganize themselves as they stand alongside their new allies. Ready to once more fight this once seemingly invincible enemy.

In the midst of the formation, our three protagonists appear in the middle of the action as they are flanked by Team RWBY and JNPR. Weapons locked and loaded as they brace for the creatures. Watching as they get closer and closer before letting loose everything that they got. Causing the screen to fade into black amid smoke and gunfire, revealing the title.

"Battlefield 2042: The Soldiers of Remnant"

Chapter 4: We got Contact!

(Premonition's Arc)

---

Index

"Text" - Normal Talking

"Text" - Radio transmissions or straining on a specific word/words

"Text" - Very loud screaming, yelling, or an assortment of the two.

'Text' - Thoughts, or quotations of a certain thing/subject/person/etc

"Text (Text)" - Translated words/sentences. (Note: Some sentences will not be translated for the funny.

"Text / Text" - Multiple people saying multiple things.

---

"To be honest, I don't even know how it all started."

"By Oum, I didn't think it could happen in the first place."

"I mean, we all were prepared for something like this, sure. But I thought that the eggheads were just being safe. Plus, with all the training drills we did, I was sure we'd get everything up and running in a jiffy even if something bad happened."

"Boy, were we wrong."

"I'm just glad that the general and that officer managed to stop it from going critical and blowing us up to the Heavens."

"Though I can say for certain, after everything that just happened. The raise they gave us is not enough for all the dangerous stuff we do here."

- Testimony of an Unknown Guard September 29th, 2048

---

"T-minus five minutes to activation! I repeat, T-minus five minutes to activation!"

The base's PA system crackled to life, its metallic voice echoing through the control room as the hum of activity intensified. Scientists darted across the floor, clutching stacks of papers, digital tablets, and hastily drained coffee cups. Monitors flickered with streams of data, and warning lights pulsed a steady, urgent rhythm overhead.

Amid the chaos, General Ironwood stood unmoving at the center of it all, his stern gaze sweeping over the frantic scene. His guards flanked him, stoic and silent, their eyes darting to the frantic figures around them. The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the unspoken understanding that they were moments away from either a monumental breakthrough.

Or another Chernobyl if you're an emo person.

Below the observation deck, the cavernous hall swarmed with more scientists. Some clad in sleek suits, others in bulky exo-suits, their hurried movements betraying the nerves beneath the surface. Ironwood's eyes narrowed as he watched them clear the area, scrambling to retreat to a safer distance from the looming machine that dominated the center of the room. It sat there like a beast in waiting, dormant yet brimming with potential energy.

'If it combusts…' Ironwood thought, 'That's billions of lien up in smoke.'

His lips tightened at the thought. Years of investment, planning, secrecy, and lives—all hinging on the next few minutes. He raised his left hand, glancing at his watch. The digital display blinked with the countdown. silent, relentless. Four minutes to go. The steady tick of the seconds seemed to grow louder in his mind, inescapable, like the beat of a war drum.

"T-minus three minutes to activation! I repeat, T-minus three minutes to activation!"

"What's our status?" The officer asked, his voice tinged with nervous energy as he turned to the group of scientists hunched over their consoles. They didn't bother looking up, too engrossed in their rapid work, fingers dancing over controls, eyes flickering between data streams.

"Power input is at 87% and climbing, sir," one scientist responded curtly, her hands flying over the console in a blur of movement.

"All personnel have evacuated the chamber, sir. Medical and security teams are on standby for any complications during the test," another added, just as the heavy doors to the chamber below slammed shut with a deafening thud, sealing off the immense machinery inside. The sound echoed through the room, sending a shiver through the officer.

"Good." The officer nodded, quickly turning to face Ironwood. His posture stiffened, almost reverent as he spoke, "Sir, all essential systems and personnel are ready at your command. Just give us the word an-"

"I already know that, Colonel," he replied, his voice laced with impatience as he barely gave them a glance whilst rubbing the bridge of his nose. "While I do respect your wish to keep me informed. You do not have to inform me every sentence said in this room."

"S-Sorry, sir! Just wanted to make sure you're kept regularly informed!" The officer's voice wavered, as if desperately seeking approval, his entire demeanor shifting nervously at the slight hint of displeasure from the general.

Ironwood's cold silence in response made the officer's pulse quicken. He swallowed hard, standing at attention, trying not to show how much Ironwood's approval meant to him.

'By Oum.', he thought to himself, 'I thought we had officers in charge here. Not puppies.'

"T-minus sixty seconds to activation! I repeat, T-minus sixty seconds to activation!" The speaker system's announcement blared through the room, heightening the frantic energy as everyone moved into final preparations.

Security guards began passing out protective goggles, their faces tight with tension. Each pair was handed out with urgency, the weight of what was about to happen settling like a thick fog over the room. A guard approached Ironwood, offering a pair with a wordless nod. Ironwood accepted them with a curt "Thank you," his cold focus fixed ahead, not missing a beat.

The officer, watching every gesture, nearly jumped when a guard handed him a pair of goggles too. "D-Do you need help, sir?" the officer stammered, rushing to assist, but Ironwood shot him a sharp glance.

"I can handle myself, Colonel," Ironwood replied coolly, fitting the goggles over his eyes with practiced precision. He adjusted the strap, securing them firmly. "You, on the other hand, might want to put yours on unless you plan on going blind."

The officer flushed, scrambling to fix the goggles over his eyes, internally cursing his own carelessness. How could he be so absent-minded in front of the general? He snapped the goggles into place just as the intercom blared again:

"T-minus thirty seconds to activation! All emergency personnel are advised to prepare for a Code Red event." A massive digital countdown clock appeared on nearly every screen in the room, its ominous numbers ticking down, second by second.

The officer's pulse raced, sweat beading at his temples. "S-Status report!" he called out, his voice cracking under the mounting pressure as he straightened his goggles, trying to regain his composure.

"Energy levels are at 97% and still rising," a scientist responded, the edge in their voice betraying the gravity of the situation.

"Reactors one through four report all systems in the green, sir. Emergency systems are primed and ready to engage if something goes wrong."

"Emergency crews are standing by, sir," another added, their tone tense. "They're in position, ready to move the moment anything goes south."

The officer glanced nervously at Ironwood, almost seeking a nod of reassurance. "And—uh—our forces on the surface?"

"They're prepared to engage any Grimm that might be drawn to the test, sir," a scientist reported, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Quick Reaction Forces are standing by in case of an airborne Grimm incursion."

Ironwood gave a single, sharp nod. "Good," he muttered, his gaze drifting down to the chamber below. The machine, ominous and dormant, stood at the center of it all, brimming with the energy that could either propel them into a new era—or destroy everything in its wake.

"T-Minus ten seconds. Nine. Eight, "

"Are you nervous sir?" The officer asked as the stoic general turned toward them. Their eyebrows slightly raised in confusion.

"I-I mean, you spent so much on this one project with the hopes of making Remnant a better place. One without the threat of Grimm just swooping in and destroying everything."

"Who said I wasn't?" He asked as he turned back to the chamber down below.

"Seven. Six."

"Then why don't you look nervous?"

"Because." Ironwood said as he continued to look down at the machine slowly light up. "An old friend told me something that made me continue with this project."

"Five. Four."

"And what's that sir?"

"Three. Two."

"Sometimes…"

"One."

"You just have to have faith."

As the clock struck zero, a sharp hum filled the room, followed by a low rumble as the machine in the chamber below came to life. The strange symbols etched along the outer ring began to glow, pulsating with a fiery red hue. Slowly, the ring itself began to rotate, each symbol lighting up in sequence—first the bottom, then the sides, and finally, the topmost symbol.

Tension in the control room mounted with each passing second, the quiet hum of the machine growing louder, vibrating through the floor. A haze of smoke swirled from the machinery as the rotation gained speed, an almost hypnotic rhythm that made the air in the room feel thick and electric.

Suddenly, a blinding flash burst forth from the center of the machine, sending a shockwave outward. Everyone in the observation room instinctively flinched, diving behind consoles and equipment as the energy surged toward them, threatening to engulf the entire room.

But just as quickly as it came, the explosion retracted, collapsing back into the center of the ring. The energy that once shot out in chaos now formed a shimmering surface, rippling like the surface of a pond, with glowing waves gently moving back and forth, casting eerie reflections across the room.

For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air as all eyes locked on the glowing gateway. The sheer power of what they had just witnessed left everyone frozen in awe, unable to believe what had just unfolded before them.

"Gateway successfully formed, sir!" the lead scientist reported, her voice a mix of exhilaration and anxiety. She glanced at the console, where fluctuating energy readings danced across the screen. "Stability readings are within operational range, but the device is pulling more energy than our models predicted." She pushed her glasses up, blinking nervously at the display.

Ironwood's gaze remained fixed on the swirling portal in the center of the chamber, its surface shimmering like molten glass, infused with a faint, red hue from the energy coursing through the symbols. "Are we still in control?" His tone was calm but with the weight of someone who had seen experiments spiral out of control before.

"Yes, General," another scientist replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "The reactor's holding, though it's pulling a significant load. I'd say we're at around 15% over the projected power consumption." His brow furrowed as he glanced back at Ironwood. "Nothing catastrophic yet, but we'll have to recalibrate for long-term stability if we keep this gateway open for too long."

The portal crackled ominously, tendrils of energy licking the edges, as if testing the air. Ironwood narrowed his eyes. "Fine-tuning can wait. What about external interference? Anything unusual?"

"Nothing that should be noted as anything serious sir." another voice piped in from the back, where a young officer manned the sensor array. "But there's a spike in Dust particle readings. Could be a byproduct of the portal. It's nothing we haven't seen before, but it's ramping up faster than expected."

The officer, still a little breathless from the near miss, turned to Ironwood for approval, his excitement barely contained. "Security teams are reporting Code Greens across the facility—no major damage. Just a few light bulbs blown out in the bathrooms. Engineering's already on it."

"Surface teams reporting in too," another added. "Minor increase in Grimm activity—mostly airborne types—but our automated defenses are engaging. We'll keep them at bay."

Ironwood nodded, his eyes never leaving the glowing gateway. "Excellent," he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of someone who had expected nothing less. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, but his gaze remained sharp, ever vigilant.

The officer, emboldened by Ironwood's approval, stepped forward, his voice swelling with pride. He raised his arms slightly, drawing the attention of the entire room. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced, his voice carrying the triumphant energy of the moment. "… We did it!"

A brief, stunned silence followed, as if no one quite believed it. Then, like a floodgate opening, the room erupted into cheers and applause. Scientists hugged, exchanged handshakes, and congratulated each other. A few even wiped tears from their eyes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what had just been accomplished. Papers were thrown in the air, colleges hugged and rocked each other back and forth. One pair locked into a kiss in the midst of the chaos.

Despite the cheers and celebration echoing through the observation room, Ironwood remained unmoved. His steely gaze fixed on the machine below, his eyes scanning it as if searching for something others had missed. The faint glow of the gateway rippled like a calm pond.

The officer, who had been caught up in the wave of excitement as he was patting a guard on the back and sharing in the moment, noticed the general's isolation. The sight of Ironwood, standing alone amidst the celebration, tugged at his curiosity. With a quick adjustment of his uniform and a soft clearing of his throat, he made his way to Ironwood's side.

"Sir?" the officer ventured, his voice hesitant. When Ironwood gave him a brief glance, the officer straightened his posture, suddenly nervous under the weight of the general's gaze. "With all due respect, shouldn't you be celebrating like the rest of us? I-I mean, the experiment was an overwhelming success! Doesn't this excite you? The possibilities of what we could accomplish from here?"

Ironwood's sharp gaze lingered on the officer, who fidgeted slightly under the pressure. He wasn't used to questioning his superior, especially someone as commanding as Ironwood, but his genuine excitement pushed him forward. The officer's words hung in the air, expectant, as he awaited Ironwood's response.

Finally, Ironwood sighed, his eyes shifting back to the glowing machine in the chamber below. "I understand your excitement, Colonel," he said, his voice calm but edged with something heavier. "But there's something you, and everyone else here, seem to be overlooking."

The officer felt a knot of unease twist in his gut. "W-What is it, sir?" His voice wavered, the enthusiasm that had fueled him moments earlier now faltering.

Ironwood's eyes narrowed as he spoke, his tone measured. "This is just the first step. While I'm pleased with what we've achieved, we still have multiple tests ahead of us—tests we'll need to fully understand the capabilities of this device." His gaze hardened. "Despite what we recovered from Site Alpha, there are gaps in our knowledge. There's still much we don't know."

The officer frowned, his thoughts beginning to mirror Ironwood's concerns. He had imagined countless outcomes, both thrilling and terrifying, but hearing it from Ironwood made the risks feel far more real. A grim reality settled over him.

"The gateway…" Ironwood continued, his voice lowering as if weighing each word. "There are many unknown factors that we don't know about. For all we know, it could either lead us to the supposed safe haven that our archaeologists are talking about." He paused, letting the possibility hang in the air, tantalizing yet fragile. Then, his tone darkened. "Or it could lead us to a world far worse than our own. A world where the Grimm are the least of our worries."

The officer's heart sank as the implications hit him. He had considered the risks before, but in the glow of the victory, they had seemed distant, like mere hypotheticals. Now, they felt dangerously close, tangible. He swallowed, his mouth dry. The general's words carried a weight he hadn't fully grasped until now.

Images flashed through the officer's mind—Grimm pouring through the gateway, or worse, an unstoppable force waiting on the other side. What if the gateway opened into the ocean's depths, flooding the entire facility, or worse still, some other dimension beyond comprehension? The officer's breath quickened as the possibilities overwhelmed him.

Ironwood's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Still," the general said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile pulling at his lips. "I agree that this is cause for some celebration." He turned to face the officer fully, his gaze softening for the first time since the test began. "We've taken a monumental step forward today, and that's worth recognizing."

Relief flooded the officer's face, his worries momentarily swept aside by Ironwood's acknowledgment. The bright smile that had lit up his features earlier returned, as if seeing the general's approval was all he needed to restore his confidence.

"Yes, sir," he said, almost beaming with pride. His admiration for Ironwood only deepened, believing that under the general's leadership, any obstacle could be overcome. He looked at the gateway with renewed hope, the initial doubts pushed to the back of his mind.

Around them, the rest of the room was still caught in the throes of celebration—scientists laughing, exchanging handshakes, even a few breaking into tears at the success of the experiment. The energy was electric, as if they had just unlocked a bright, hopeful future, one where the threat of Grimm no longer loomed over their every step.

Until the alarms started to ring.

The celebration came to an abrupt halt as the screens around the room flashed a vivid, menacing red. A cascade of alarms filled the air, drowning out the earlier cheers. One by one, the scientists who had been congratulating each other froze, their faces draining of color as they rushed back to their stations. The energy in the room shifted from elation to chaos in an instant. The machinery hummed ominously, and the screens began flashing error messages faster than the scientists could process them.

"What the hel-Status report!" Ironwood's voice cut through the noise like a knife. His eyes swept across the room, seeing the confusion and panic in the faces of his team. "Someone tell me what in Oum's name is going on!"

One of the scientists, her hands frantically flying across her console, barely looked up as she responded, her voice shaking. "S-Sir! The experimental crystals! T-They're overloading the containment grid!"

"Shut it down!" the officer barked, stepping up beside Ironwood, his face tight with worry as the blare of alarms echoed throughout the facility. "We can't let this get out of hand!"

"We're trying!" the scientist shot back, her voice rising in pitch. "But if we shut it down now, the gateway could collapse on itself and—"

"And what?" Ironwood demanded, his tone as sharp as the alarms. He wasn't in the mood for half-answers.

"If it collapses, it could implode! The entire mountain might cave in on us!"

"Well, figure it out!" the officer shouted, panic creeping into his voice. He scanned the room, watching as bolts of electricity snapped and sparked from the portal. "We don't have time to play it safe! I don't want this facility turning into another archeological site!"

Another blast of energy arced out from the unstable portal, smashing into the chamber's lower panels. Sparks flew as the containment grid flickered erratically, struggling to contain the overwhelming power. The once steady, blue glow of the gateway had turned into an erratic pulse of chaotic energy, casting wild, disorienting shadows across the room.

The air grew heavy, vibrating with the unstable energy building inside the chamber. The walls of the facility, despite being carved into the solid rock of the mountain, trembled under the strain. Another loud CRACK echoed through the room, and a surge of raw energy erupted from the center of the portal, flooding the area with blinding light. The swirling vortex inside the gateway shifted to a violent maelstrom of colors, wild and unpredictable.

"Get down!" Ironwood shouted, grabbing a nearby scientist and pulling them away from the window just as a bolt of energy shot out, slamming into the glass. The protective barrier shattered, sending shards flying as two of Ironwood's robotic guards moved in front of him. They took the brunt of the blast, their metal forms sizzling and sparking as they were flung across the room, crashing into the far wall in a smoking heap.

"By the Brothers…" the officer muttered, wide-eyed, as he helped Ironwood back to his feet. The two robots lay in crumpled heaps, their once-glowing eyes dimming. The air around them crackled with residual energy, and the scent of scorched metal filled the room.

"Everyone out!" Ironwood's commanding voice rang out as he began pulling scientists to their feet, physically pushing them toward the exits. His own security team sprang into action, herding the panicking scientists toward the lift and emergency stairwells. But the red lights continued to pulse in sync with the unstable portal, warning them all that time was running out.

"Sir, we need to evacuate you now!" the officer shouted, his voice strained as he pushed past fleeing personnel to reach Ironwood's side. "We don't have time! The whole facility is coming apart!"

"I'll leave when everyone else is safely out!" Ironwood shot back, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze flicked to the control station where several scientists still worked desperately to stabilize the portal. "How fast can we get everyone out before this thing goes critical?"

One of the lead scientists, his face pale but determined, answered, "We've begun full evacuation, sir! Security teams across the facility are assisting with the evacuation, and surface teams are warming up every bullhead we have to get personnel out. But even with pre-planned contingencies, it's going to take time."

"Not fast enough," Ironwood muttered, casting a quick glance toward the flickering portal. "And the Grimm?"

"Sir!" Another scientist turned, panic in his voice. "Grimm activity is spiking across the surface! Airborne Grimm are already making their way here, and the power fluctuations are hitting our defense systems hard—only about 35% capacity right now. Ground teams are on the move to intercept, but we'll be overrun if we don't stabilize soon."

Ironwood clenched his fists. "Damn it." His voice was low but laced with frustration. "What about internal damage?"

"The reactor's experiencing power surges and outages across sectors one through three! Sector four went dark—before we lost contact, they reported a massive energy buildup."

"Explosions have been reported across key points in the facility," another scientist added hurriedly. "Power conduits, wiring, entire sections are shorting out. Security teams are trying to contain it using emergency shut-offs, but it's going to take time."

"Can we shut the power off from here?" Ironwood asked sharply, his eyes darting between the scientists.

"Yes, but it'll be risky—"

"Then do it!" Ironwood snapped, cutting off the scientist's protest. "And keep me updated on the evacuation status!"

The scientist scrambled to comply as another report came in. "We've just begun loading personnel onto the bullheads, sir! But the Grimm are becoming a real problem. Our armed transports are engaging, but they're stretched thin. Specialist Winter's on her way with the QRF, but she says they'll need at least thirty minutes to reach us!"

Ironwood's jaw tightened. Thirty minutes felt like an eternity with the facility on the brink of collapse. "We don't have that long," he muttered, scanning the room as sparks continued to fly and alarms blared. "Get as many people out as you can. And make sure Winter knows what she's flying into."

The officer nodded, barking orders into his comm as the situation continued to deteriorate around them. More bolts of energy shot out from the portal, tearing through the already crumbling chamber. Sections of the ceiling groaned under the strain, and a deep rumble shook the floor beneath their feet. Reminding him that they didn't have enough time for the QRF to arrive and handle this situation.

Wait.

"If we disconnect the device from the power grid, would that stop whatever's happening!?" Ironwood's voice sliced through the panic, his gaze locked on the frazzled scientists, who exchanged hesitant glances, clearly unsure of the answer themselves.

One scientist, a younger woman with trembling hands, pushed up her glasses nervously. "W-We've considered something like that in the simulations, sir… b-but the problem is…"

Ironwood narrowed his eyes. "What's the problem?"

She swallowed hard, as though forcing the words out. "Someone would have to go inside to manually turn it off. We c-can't do it remotely. The power conduits are too heavily shielded."

The officer, standing beside Ironwood, followed her gaze to the chamber below, where bolts of wild energy arced dangerously around the room. Amidst the chaos, a large panel glowed faintly on the far wall, partially obscured by debris and sparks flying from overloaded machinery.

"Why the hell can't we do it remotely?!" the officer demanded, his voice rising. "And why is the damn shut-off in there of all places?"

The scientist opened her mouth to answer, but Ironwood cut her off, his tone low and decisive. "That doesn't matter."

Without a moment's hesitation, Ironwood began to unbutton his coat, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. His movements were calm, deliberate—completely at odds with the chaos surrounding them. His steely eyes never left the chamber as he strode purposefully toward a side door.

"W-Where are you going, sir?" the officer asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he watched Ironwood approach the entrance to the dangerous chamber.

Ironwood paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. "Where else? Downstairs."

With that, he opened the door and disappeared into the hallway beyond, leaving the room in stunned silence. For a moment, no one moved. The remaining scientists and the officer stood frozen, their faces pale as they processed what had just happened.

"Oh, by the Brothers, you've got to be kidding me…" the officer muttered, tearing off his own coat and throwing his hat aside. He took a few hurried steps toward the door before shouting after the general. "W-Wait for me, sir!"

The officer bolted after Ironwood, vanishing through the doorway in a blur of panic and determination. The scientists, still standing in shocked silence, exchanged wide-eyed glances, unable to comprehend that both their leader and the officer had just charged into the most dangerous part of the facility.

"Martha." One scientist suddenly said as he turned to his colleague.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"… Sure."

…

Ironwood reached the imposing dual doors that separated the hallway from the main chamber. His breath came in control, even beats as he pulled out a keycard from his pocket and pressed it against the glowing holographic screen beside the door. For a tense second, nothing happened. The only sound was the distant rumble of the facility, the alarms blaring like warnings of impending doom. Then, the screen blinked green, and the doors responded with a low hiss, sliding apart to reveal the chaotic chamber beyond.

He stuffed the keycard back into his pocket and stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the erratic pulsing of the unstable portal. The heat coming off it was intense, distorting the air like waves of mirage. Ironwood's jaw tightened as he made his way forward. There was no time to waste.

"Hey! Hey!" a voice echoed from behind.

Ironwood turned, his brow furrowing as he spotted the officer sprinting toward him, waving frantically.

The general barely had a chance to process the words before the door behind him started its automatic descent, beginning to seal off the chamber.

The officer, seeing the narrowing gap, pushed his legs harder, his boots pounding against the floor in a desperate rhythm. Ironwood watched him for a moment, his mind racing. The officer's face was a mix of determination and panic, his eyes locked on the quickly shrinking space between the door and the floor.

With no time left, he flung himself forward with a burst of adrenaline-fueled desperation, launching his entire body through the air. For a brief, weightless moment, he seemed suspended mid-flight, the space between him and the closing door narrowing with each fraction of a second.

"I can't tell if you're brave, reckless, or both," Ironwood remarked, crouching down to help the officer to their feet.

"P-Probably both," the officer muttered through gritted teeth, trying to catch their breath. Ironwood hauled them up by the shoulder, his grip firm but not harsh. The officer wobbled slightly but managed to stand, brushing themselves off. "A-And, with all due respect, sir, you can't say that when someone like you, a general, is risking their life like this!"

Ironwood's expression hardened. His frown silenced the officer immediately, their voice dying in their throat as they shrank slightly under his intense gaze. The general's presence seemed to grow more imposing by the second, and the hiss of disinfectant spraying from the ceiling only added to the tension, making the sterile environment feel even more severe.

For a moment, the air between them was heavy with unspoken reprimands. Then, unexpectedly, Ironwood exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I'll admit," he said with a quiet sigh, his voice softer, though still edged with authority, "there's some truth to what you've said."

The officer blinked, not expecting the concession. Ironwood continued, his tone level but serious, "But we're out of options. Someone has to shut this down, or everyone in this facility is as good as dead. And we don't know what kind of fallout will follow if this thing goes critical. We're not just talking about the mountain collapsing. We could be facing a catastrophe that spreads far beyond this installation."

The officer swallowed hard, the weight of Ironwood's words sinking in, but they were far from done. "Then let me do it!" they exclaimed suddenly, their hand shooting up to press against their chest. "I-I can get to the panel! I can shut it down! And if something happens. If I don't make it back, I can be replaced, sir. You cannot! This facility, these people, they need you! Let me take your place!"

Ironwood's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his looming presence once again making the officer feel small. "Do you even have the slightest idea what you're offering? What you're up against in there?" His words were calm but carried an unmistakable challenge.

The officer stammered, "I-I..."

"You've got dedication, I'll give you that," Ironwood interrupted, pacing slightly as the officer struggled to find words. "But what you just pulled off, getting through that door in the nick of time, was pure luck. Luck that won't help you in that chamber." His eyes bored into the officer's. "Tell me, do you think you'll get lucky again? That you'll be able to avoid those bolts of lightning? You know what happens if you get hit. Tt won't be a scrape or a bruise. You'll be dead before you hit the ground."

The officer opened their mouth to argue, but the words faltered. Ironwood's gaze, unwavering and firm, made it clear that there was no room for false confidence here. Slowly, they bowed their head in resignation, staring down at the floor. It was the only answer they could give.

Ironwood sighed, "You stay here," he said, his tone final but less harsh as he made his way through the chamber

"Sir!" The intercom crackled to life, the voice trembling with urgency. Ironwood recognized it as one of the scientists from the control room above. "The device is about to reach critical mass! You must get to the panel now, or we'll all be Atlas' next World Wide Museum exhibit!"

Ironwood allowed himself the faintest chuckle at the grim joke, but it quickly faded as the reality of the situation set in. Focused, he pressed forward, navigating the chaos of the chamber. The officer remained back in the decontamination chamber, their face pale, eyes wide with anxiety as they watched him traverse the danger zone.

"T-minus three minutes until critical overload!" the intercom screamed once more, and Ironwood immediately ducked as a jagged bolt of electricity lashed out, narrowly missing him by inches. The sizzling energy crackled menacingly, leaving a scorched, smoking crater in the wall beside him.

"By Oum, that was too close," Ironwood muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He crouched behind a stack of crates abandoned by the research team, their surfaces blackened by previous strikes. He risked a quick glance toward the device, his eyes narrowing as he saw the bluish glow it emitted just moments ago had shifted. Now it pulsed with a deep, ominous red. Time was running out.

Pushing forward, he sprinted across the chamber, weaving between overturned machinery and debris, each movement a calculated risk. Another surge of electricity crackled through the air, missing him by a hair as he dove behind more cover. The heat from the bolt stung his face, a scorching reminder of how close he'd come to losing his life.

But there was no time to rest. He darted forward again, moving from cover to cover with unyielding determination. Finally, Ironwood reached the control panel, his boots skidding across the floor as he came to a stop. Without hesitation, he gripped the edge of the panel's cover and yanked it free, tossing it aside with a loud clatter. His eyes scanned the intricate maze of switches, buttons, and levers now exposed before him.

"OK! I'm here!" he bellowed into the chaos, hoping the scientists above could hear him over the roaring din of electricity and the deafening hum of the device reaching its peak. "What next?"

"You have to turn off all the main power lines that connect the device to the reactor rooms! Start with reactor room four and work your way down!" the intercom buzzed frantically. "Once that's done, pull the lever on your left to completely shut down the device!"

Ironwood's gaze darted to the switches, his fingers moving quickly but methodically as he flipped them, one by one, following the instructions. Each switch clicked loudly, and with each flick, the device in the center of the room seemed to groan, its red glow intensifying as if protesting his every move.

"T-minus two minutes!" the intercom warned, the scientist's voice rising in panic.

Ironwood's hand hovered over the final switch, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He took a deep breath, bracing himself as he flipped the last switch, cutting the last power line. The room shuddered violently as the energy coursing through the device sputtered, momentarily faltering.

Ironwood turned back to the panel, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at each switch. Noticing the switch's label "Reactor Rooms 1-4." One by one, he flipped them down, with the light above each one going dead, symbolizing that power was cut off.

Afterward, he turned to the large lever and grabbed the handle. Pulling down as hard as he could.

But it didn't come down.

Confused, he pulled down again and again. Using more force each time he did so. Soon enough, he was using his entire body weight, desperately trying to force it down. But the damn stubborn thing just wouldn't budge!

"Damn it all!" Ironwood cursed as he leaped up, throwing his full weight onto the lever. He grunted with the effort, pushing down with everything he had, but the lever didn't budge. It stayed locked in place. He tried again, and again, but each time the results were the same. The lever was jammed.

"It's jammed!" he yelled out, his voice strained with desperate frustration as he continued.

Back in the control room, silence gripped the team. The frantic energy of the room suddenly vanished, as if the very air had been sucked out. The constant crackle of electricity filled the gap left by their voices, casting an ominous shadow over the realization that everything could go catastrophically wrong.

One of the scientists, her voice barely audible, stammered, "T-That's impossible!" She pushed her glasses up with a trembling hand, eyes wide in disbelief. "W-We ran every check on the system, essential systems, redundancies, even minor components. There shouldn't be anything that could jam in the first place!"

"That doesn't matter now!" another scientist barked, his fingers moving rapidly across the control console. His face was slick with sweat as the screens in front of him flashed red. "What's the status on the device!?"

"T-minus less than two minutes before it reaches critical mass!" another replied, her voice a mix of panic and dread as she scanned the readouts on her screen.

"Oh for Oum's sake!" a third scientist cursed loudly, slamming his hands down on the table before pushing back from his seat. His chair screeched across the floor as he shot to his feet, face twisted with growing desperation. Without a second thought, he bolted toward the door, shoving one of his colleagues aside in his frantic escape.

"Hey! Where are you going!?" the scientist on the floor yelled, struggling to stand as they reached out toward him.

"Doctor Jones, get back to your position!" the lead scientist shouted, rising from his chair with fury in his eyes.

Jones didn't even slow down, whipping his head back toward them as he ran down the narrow corridor. "Damn my position! Damn this whole project!" His eyes were wide with fear, wild with the realization of what was coming. "Don't you see?! We're all going to die here if we don't get out!"

"Doctor Jones, stop!" another scientist pleaded, rising from her chair to follow him. "We can still fix this—"

"Fix this? FIX THIS?!" Jones spat back, his voice rising to a fever pitch as he glanced over his shoulder. "There's nothing left to fix! It's too late! The damn thing is about to blow, and you're worried about your position? You're delusional!"

"We're still within the fail-safe window!" the lead scientist retorted, banging his fist on the control panel. "If we shut down the reactors—"

"Fail-safe window?!" Jones laughed bitterly, a manic edge creeping into his voice as he skidded around a corner. "We're seconds away from turning this facility into a crater! Stay if you want, but I'm not dying in this damn lab!" He disappeared around the bend, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"Leave him!" Ironwood shouted from the chamber, "We have other problems to deal with! Tell me, is there anything else we can do to shut this damn thing off!?"

"Unless you're willing to fry your entire body like roasted Grimm, no!" a sharp voice crackled through the intercom, one that Ironwood didn't recognize. "The only way is to manually disconnect the main power cords feeding the device from the remaining grids. But even with most of the systems damaged, there's still enough juice running through those cables to kill someone! It's just not worth it!"

Ironwood's jaw clenched, his face set in grim determination. "We don't have a choice," he responded, his voice as solid as steel. He turned his gaze toward the control room. "Everyone, evacuate the facility! Get as far away as possible! Now! That's an order!"

The command hung in the air for only a heartbeat before the majority of the scientists bolted, scrambling toward the emergency exits. The fear was palpable, and a few hesitant stragglers seemed ready to argue, but their protests died on their lips as another wild bolt of electricity surged across the control room. The deafening crack and flash of light nearly hit one of them, convincing even the most doubtful to flee with the rest.

Alone in the chamber, Ironwood steeled himself for what lay ahead. He surveyed the chaotic scene, lightning flashing intermittently as the unstable portal thrashed, spitting electrical discharges like some cornered beast. The air smelled acrid, a mix of burnt ozone and metallic heat, as crackling energy rippled through the chamber.

Taking a deep breath, Ironwood made his move. He darted forward, sticking close to the walls as he used overturned crates and metal debris as cover. Each step felt like a dance with death, as bolts of electricity whipped through the air with terrifying unpredictability. Every strike lit up the room, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, making the whole chamber feel alive with malevolent energy.

At first, Ironwood moved with measured precision, dodging and weaving like a seasoned soldier. He kept his body low, his eyes sharp, narrowly avoiding arcs of lightning that lashed out like claws. His mind raced, calculating the safest path toward the power cords. So far, so good. He'd made it halfway through the chamber, and the end seemed almost within reach.

But the portal had other plans.

As if sensing his intent, the portal suddenly flared violently, spitting out bolts of electricity in rapid succession. The energy no longer followed a chaotic pattern; it was an assault. Ironwood ducked behind a metal crate, cursing under his breath as he was forced to hunker down. The bolts struck the floor and walls around him like a hailstorm, pinning him in place. Each strike rattled the chamber, the sound of crackling power filling his ears.

"Damn it!" he snarled, frustration building as he crouched, trapped behind cover. He tried to peek out, but the storm of electricity made it impossible to advance. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought of the critical mass drawing nearer by the second.

Suddenly, a blinding flash erupted overhead, and a bolt of electricity struck the crate he was using for cover. The force sent a shockwave through the metal, traveling straight into the floor. Before Ironwood could react, the current surged into his body.

It was as if fire had been poured into his veins. Every muscle seized up in agonizing pain as the electric shock coursed through him. His teeth clenched so hard he thought his jaw might break. His vision blurred, flickering between light and darkness, and he could taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood in his mouth as his body convulsed involuntarily. For a moment, the world was nothing but searing white-hot pain, every nerve ablaze. His fingers twitched uncontrollably, and his knees buckled as his legs gave way beneath him.

"S-Sir!" the officer shouted as Ironwood collapsed to the floor. Without thinking, he rushed forward, hoping to reach his side and check for signs of life. But before he could close the distance, another surge of electricity burst from the portal, crackling through the air and forcing him to halt in his tracks. With wide eyes, he scrambled back into the decontamination chamber, diving for cover. Hands over his head, he curled into a ball, silently pleading to Oum for mercy.

Moments passed, but he expected shock never came. Slowly, he uncurled, heart still pounding as he got to his feet, barely believing he was still alive. He exhaled in relief.

That relief was short-lived. Another wild flurry of lightning erupted from the portal, snapping him back to reality. His gaze darted to where Ironwood lay unconscious, still exposed and vulnerable on the floor.

He took a tentative step forward, but before he could commit, another arc of electricity flashed across the room. He flinched, stumbling backward and landing flat on his arse. Cursing under his breath, he realized there was no way he could reach Ironwood without getting fried like an omelette. His mind raced for an alternative.

And then it hit him.

Sticking close to the wall, he carefully edged along the perimeter, hugging the surface as if his life depended on it. Which, in this case, it did. Inch by inch, he crept his way toward the back of the device, where a tangled mess of wires and components laid out before him. He reached out, only for a sharp jolt to shoot up his arm, numbing his fingers as he yanked his hand back, hissing in pain.

"Yeah, no… that's not happening," he muttered, shaking his hand to bring back some feeling.

Desperation mounting, his eyes fell on his sidearm. He hesitated for a second before pulling it free. Taking aim, he squeezed the trigger, flinching as five rounds crackled from the muzzle. The bolts of dust-infused ammunition slammed into the console, punching through metal and circuitry.

The portal flickered wildly, sputtering in and out of existence like a glitchy old TV set on the fritz. Or like your dad's life support when you "accidentally" pull the plug during a heated game of hide-and-seek.

But it didn't shut it down.

"W-What?!" the officer stammered, his voice rising in panic. He took aim again, firing three more shots into the device. Then another two, and another three, each round slamming into the metal, sending sparks flying as the machine shuddered but remained stubbornly operational. Click. His sidearm ran dry, and he stared at the smoking console, now riddled with holes, resembling a hunk of Swiss cheese.

And yet, the damn thing still hummed menacingly, power surging through it.

"Why can't you just shut down like a g-good, shot-up machine!?" he yelled, frustration pouring out of him as his breath quickened. His gaze darted around the room, searching desperately for any other way to stop it. The portal continued to sputter and flicker dangerously, electricity spewing out at random, threatening to engulf the entire chamber.

Then, his eyes locked onto the cables snaking out from the base of the machine. He followed the thick wires, tracing them to where they disappeared into the floor—there. A hatch.

Without hesitation, he scrambled over, grabbing the handle with both hands. He pulled, gritting his teeth as he strained against the stubborn metal. The hatch refused to budge at first, the reinforced steel barely lifting from its seal. Sweat dripped down his brow as he tried again, muscles straining as he threw everything he had into it. Finally, with a groaning creak, the hatch gave way just enough to lift it off the floor.

"T-minus one minute until detonation. All personnel are advised to seek shelter or evacuate from the premises as the device reaches critical mass," the intercom blared, its robotic tone almost drowned out by the violent tremors that rattled the entire facility. The walls groaned under the strain, lights flickered, and dust fell in thick plumes from the ceiling. The officer's heart pounded in his chest, reminding him that time was slipping away, bringing him closer to inevitable death.

Suddenly, through the cacophony of alarms and chaos, he heard a low groan. His eyes darted toward the source, widening when he saw General Ironwood. Smoking slightly, his once-pristine white uniform streaked with ash and scorch marks, dragging himself across the floor. Ironwood's face was a mask of agony and frustration, a far cry from the stoic, unshakable figure the officer knew. The sight of it unnerved him; he'd never seen the general like this. So human, so vulnerable.

Hey! Stop simping for him! We get your damn point!

Their eyes locked. In that brief moment, the officer froze. He saw confusion flicker in the general's eyes, uncertainty, perhaps even fear. Emotions that he never saw from them from both pictures and when they met them face to face.

He wanted to shout, to call out something, anything: a warning, a plea, a simple "General!" But the sound died in his throat as the relentless wail of the sirens and the violent shudder of the room swallowed his voice.

The officer tore his gaze away, forcing himself back to the task at hand. There was no time to hesitate. The walls were closing in, and death was lurking just beyond the next strike of electricity.

With renewed determination, he threw himself at the hatch again, gripping the handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His back screamed in protest, teeth grinding painfully as he pulled with every ounce of strength left in his body. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes watering from the effort, but he kept pulling. Every second felt like an eternity, the countdown ticking mercilessly in the back of his mind.

Then, with a loud metallic pop, the hatch flew open. The force sent him sprawling backward onto the cold floor, knocking the wind out of him. His body screamed at him to stay down, to give in to the exhaustion, but he scrambled back to his feet, adrenaline driving him forward.

As he rushed to the exposed wires, he froze in horror. They weren't thin cables he could rip out with his bare hands. No—these were massive, pulsating conduits, each glowing with an ominous bluish hue. The low hum of raw energy running through them was palpable, vibrating in the air around him like a deadly current waiting to lash out. His hand hovered over one of the thick tubes, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. One wrong move, one careless touch, and he'd be vaporized before he even had time to scream.

"T-minus thirty seconds until detonation."

"Oh, can't you just tell me something good!?" the officer yelled in frustration, his voice cracking under the pressure. His hands trembled as he flexed his gloves, reaching for the cables again. The instant his fingers brushed against the conduit, a sharp bolt of electricity jolted through him, making him recoil with a hiss of pain. He rubbed his scorched hands against his uniform, trying to shake off the sting.

"Damn it all!" he cursed, frantically grabbing his sidearm. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he fumbled to load a fresh magazine, his hands shaking so badly that he almost dropped it. The countdown ticking in his head only made it worse. Sweat dripped from his brow as his vision blurred with panic.

"T-minus fifteen seconds until detonation. All personnel are advised to brace for any possible shockwaves." the intercom blared coldly, a constant reminder of their impending doom.

His heart pounded as he looked up, eyes flicking toward the console, then back to the wires. He was running out of time. "O-Oh, this is such a bad idea," he mumbled, setting the gun aside. His voice wavered, a thin thread of fear creeping in as he swallowed hard, flexing his fingers one more time. His hands still trembled, his breathing uneven, but he couldn't stop now.

"T-This is such a bad idea…"

From across the room, Ironwood watched in disbelief, his mind racing to process what was happening. The officer stood over the hatch, staring down at the writhing, glowing cables. His hesitation was gone now, replaced by a grim determination that made Ironwood's stomach churn with dread.

'What in Oum's name is he doing?' Ironwood thought, his pulse quickening. Panic flooded his system, overriding the pain in his body. He could see it,the officer's intent, his decision to do something reckless, something suicidal—

Oh shit.

With a surge of adrenaline, Ironwood pushed himself off the floor, muscles screaming in protest as he reached out, his voice hoarse but loud enough to echo through the chamber. "NO! DON'T!" he screamed, the desperation raw in his tone.

But it was too late.

In one desperate motion, the officer clamped his hands around the thick, glowing tube. Instantly, a surge of electricity coursed through his body, crackling violently as it traveled up his arms and into his core. His aura flared to life, a protective shield against the lethal current, but it wasn't enough. Sparks erupted from his skin, his muscles seizing as the energy overwhelmed him, and for a split second, his entire skeleton flashed into view. Like a twisted parody of that cartoonish electrocution scene from Home Alone.

Ironwood watched in helpless awe and horror as the officer's body glowed with a bluish-white light, his aura barely holding back the torrent of power. Smoke rose from his uniform, and his hair shot up in chaotic tufts, crackling with static. He looked like a man possessed—like some crazed inventor in the midst of a failed experiment, fighting both the machine and the forces coursing through his veins.

The officer's body jerked uncontrollably, his muscles spasming in agonizing rhythm. His teeth clenched, his face a mask of pain, yet through sheer force of will, he kept pulling. His entire form shook violently, steam rising from his skin as the heat built up. The faint smell of burning flesh began to fill the air, and his aura flickered weakly, struggling to protect him from the inevitable.

But he didn't stop. His hands locked around the tube, knuckles white, eyes wide and determined. Each breath was a gasp of agony as he pulled again, harder this time, the tube barely budging under his grip. The officer felt like his entire body was on fire, his muscles screaming, his nerves fraying, but he wasn't letting go.

With one final, guttural scream, he yanked the tube from its socket, severing the device's last connection to the grid. The portal in the middle of the chamber flickered violently, spasming as if fighting to stay alive. It shimmered, pulsed, then collapsed in on itself, leaving behind nothing but the hollow ring, now dormant and powerless.

But the chaos didn't end there. The facility shook even harder, debris falling from the ceiling, alarms blaring louder than ever as the entire base trembled. The damage extended far beyond the testing chamber, a chain reaction unfolding somewhere deep within the structure.

Ironwood groaned, his body aching as he forced himself to stand. His left arm, the one that had taken the brunt of the electrical backlash, hung at his side, trembling but still functional. He winced, gripping it tight as he navigated the rubble and overturned crates. Every step sent shocks of pain through his body, but he didn't stop. He had to get to the officer.

He stumbled behind the wreckage of the machine, his breath catching as he spotted the smoking, crumpled figure on the floor. The officer lay still, steam rising from his scorched uniform. His body was limp, the faint glow of his aura still clinging to him like the last embers of a dying fire. His once pristine gloves were charred black, his skin blistered and raw where the energy had surged through him.

Ironwood's heart sank as he approached, kneeling down beside the officer. He reached out tentatively, almost afraid of what he might find, his fingers trembling as he touched the officer's shoulder. The fabric of the uniform was singed, and the officer's face was pale, streaked with soot and sweat. His lips were parted slightly, eyes closed as if caught somewhere between unconsciousness and oblivion. Yet, despite the burns, despite the damage… he was alive.

Barely.

Entire portions of the officer's uniform were scorched and torn, with patches of burnt fabric still clinging to their body. Small embers flickered here and there, glowing faintly orange, as if reluctant to fade. The officer's aura had done its best to shield him from the worst of the electrocution, but even that wasn't enough to stop the sheer intensity of the current.

His hands, once gloved, were now bare and smoking. The skin on his fingers had turned a charred black, blistered and cracked from the raw power that had surged through them. Every inch of his palms was covered in deep burns, the flesh seared and cooked by the electricity. His arms fared only slightly better—still scorched, but with fewer burns than his hands, the aura flickering weakly over them, barely keeping the damage from becoming catastrophic.

Yet, despite the horrific state of his body, the officer was still breathing. His aura, though faint, had kept him alive. Just enough to prevent the flames and electricity from consuming him completely. It wasn't a perfect protection, but it had bought him time, holding back the worst of the burns. Still, his survival would come at a cost. His body was battered and broken, and his recovery would take a long, painful stretch in the hospital.

That is if they made it back in time

"Oh, no, no, no." He mumbled as he fell to his knees by their side. Turning them onto their back, ignoring the brief shock he got from them as he pressed his fingers near their throat. Desperately trying to find a pulse.

There barely was one.

"For Oum's sake." He cursed as he began chest-compressions. "Just what were you thinking!?" He declared, keeping at a steady rhythm for a few minutes, doing mouth-to-mouth every now and then.

"Damn it all!" He exclaimed as he breathed loudly. Looking down at their motionless body as he slammed his fist on the ground beside them. Quickly followed by them reaching into their pocket and pulling out their scroll. Extending it and quickly dialing something on it before setting it beside their body while we continued doing CPR.

"This is General Ironwood, broadcasting to anyone within range. I'm located in Testing Chamber Alpha One, Subterranean Level 25. The device has been…" He glanced at the now dormant portal, its once ethereal glow replaced by a hollow, dark ring. "Deactivated. I need immediate medical teams to my position. One officer critically injured—possible third-degree burns and potential organ failure. How copy?"

Only static filled his ears, a grating reminder of how deep underground they were. He gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. Raising his scroll high, Ironwood strained to catch even the faintest signal, his knuckles white as the seconds dragged by.

Finally, through the interference, a broken response: "We re- *static* -ou, sir. Sen- *static* -team to your loc- *static* -how copy?"

Ironwood's lips tightened into a thin line as he kept his scroll aloft, heart pounding in his chest. "This is General Ironwood. I copy. Repeat last transmission. Over?"

More static, then the garbled voice returned: "Hold o- *static*" The silence that followed stretched painfully, leaving him alone with the sound of his own ragged breathing, before the line cleared. "General? General, do you copy?"

The tension in his chest eased just a little, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He allowed himself a brief chuckle, though it was tinged with weariness. "Affirmative. I hear you. Get that team down here,fast."

"Oh thank Oum sir." The voice said as they let out a sigh, "When I was told that you were still down there, I was about to send me and my boys back down there to drag your ass out of here. Glad to see that you managed to shut down the device."

The general frowned as he looked back at the officer. His eyebrows narrowed as he stared at their motionless body once more before turning back to his scroll. Not wanting to waste anymore time. "Yes, but it wasn't me that shut down the device."

"What?" They said, confused, "Then, how did-"

"I'll explain in due time, captain. Right now, I need you to send down a medical team to Testing Chamber Alpha One right this instant. We have one critically injured down here and he needs immediate medical attention."

"Understood, sir. I'll send a team down, but it's going to take some time to reach your location," came the strained reply.

"How long?" Ironwood asked, his tone controlled but sharp, urgency creeping in.

"Twenty to twenty-five minutes, sir. The device's detonation caused significant structural damage. Some scientists reported that sections of the complex collapsed as they evacuated." There was a pause, a breath of hesitation before the voice added, "In all honesty, sir, we're looking at a mass casualty situation. And that's not counting those trapped in isolated rooms or buried in rubble."

Ironwood swore under his breath, his jaw tightening as the gravity of the situation settled in. "By Oum…" He muttered softly, lowering the scroll beside the unconscious officer's body. He resumed CPR, his hands steady and relentless. "And what's the status of the Grimm? Our QRF?"

"The Quick Reaction Force is due any minute now, sir. They've already joined our security forces in holding back some of the Grimm drawn by the chaos. But… our forces took heavy losses. Both deaths and wounded. It's a miracle I even had a team to send your way."

"That it is," Ironwood grunted, leaning over the officer's face to administer mouth-to-mouth. After a tense moment, he felt a faint pulse beneath his fingers. Relief surged through him, and a small, weary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Looks like their trip won't be in vain."

"Pardon, sir?" the voice on the radio asked, confusion apparent.

"Nothing," Ironwood quickly replied, dismissing the comment. There wasn't time for explanations. Not now.

"I… See sir." The voice said, a brief, awkward silence forming between the two. "Sir, if I may."

"Speak."

"What the hell caused this?" They asked, "I mean, we ran the tests, the simulations, everything was by the book! Just what the hell went wrong?"

Ironwood remained silent, his gaze drifting back toward the now-lifeless portal device. It stood in the center of the devastated chamber, a hollow ring of charred metal, flickering and sparking like the remnants of a shattered dream. This was supposed to be their breakthrough—the miracle that would change everything. It was supposed to save them all, open new doors for Remnant, even secure a future without the Grimm.

Instead, it had ripped apart the very fabric of their hope, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Billions of lien in damages, possibly hundreds of lives lost, and for what?

"To be frank… I don't even know.

---

Madin Shahr, Afghanistan

July 18th 2048 5:32 AM

---

"I hate Afghanistan."

"I hated the sand and dirt in this place, I hated the locals, I hated the weather, and I definitely hated my squadmates."

"Hell, all they would do is slack, masturbate, watch porn, fuck one of their own, boy or girl, or a combination of everything. I would have just grabbed a gun and killed myself right on the spot if I knew I had to go through this bullshit."

"But what I hated the most was having to do more paperwork."

"God, it still gives me the chills when I had to spend restless nights making up for their bullshit."

"So when those damn things started attacking us like it was some sort of scene from an old world game. I dunno, World War Zombie or whatever, I knew I was going to be stuck at a desk for a long time."

"God, I fucking hate it here."

- Testimony of Joseph Hudson Jr. August 29th, 2048

---

Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since the brutal engagement between Coalition forces and the remnants of the TRP. Over a hundred casualties were reported on both sides, with an unknown number of civilians tragically caught in the crossfire. Some of which were forced to join the TRP at gunpoint, while others tried desperately to avoid the chaos.

The skies above the ruined city buzzed with activity as a pair of AH-64GX Apaches patrolled the perimeter, their rotors slicing through the air. They were vigilant, ensuring that what just happened doesn't happen again. Like guardian angels if they were supplied by Lockheed Martin

Though under different circumstances the sight of these fearsome machines might have inspired awe, there was an odd sense of admiration for their grace—something almost poetic in their predatory watchfulness, as long as you weren't on the receiving end of their wrath.

Down in the city streets, the chaos of battle had given way to a state of controlled tension. JLTVs and MRAPs formed a makeshift armored cordon along key intersections, their engines idling as soldiers stood watch or moved in tight formations. M2A5E2 Bradleys and M1A5 Abrams tanks prowled slowly through the urban landscape, their turrets rotating cautiously, ready to engage at the slightest sign of trouble. The streets, once teeming with both combatants and civilians running for cover, now felt eerily quiet. Though pockets of resistance likely remained hidden. Even after the extensive efforts all-day to get rid of them all

Teams of Coalition soldiers, equipped with cutting-edge battlefield communication systems, coordinated sweeps through the city's scarred buildings. Every corner was checked, every alley searched, as they hunted down what was left of the TRP insurgents. Drones buzzed overhead, offering real-time thermal imaging to pinpoint any remaining hostiles or trap-laden areas that could cause further bloodshed. Occasionally, shots rang out in the distance as sporadic engagements continued. Serving as reminders that the fight wasn't entirely over.

However, our story takes us far beyond the war-torn city limits.

On a desolate, dust-laden backroad, a solitary Humvee sat idle. The vehicle's three occupants, all soldiers, lounged in boredom as they kept watch by a crumbling checkpoint. The structure, long abandoned and half-swallowed by the desert, bore the marks of years of neglect. Rusted barricades, faded signage, and tufts of dry weeds pushing through cracks in the pavement.

Despite its state, the checkpoint had seen recent use, but not in any official capacity. Evidence of a different kind of activity lay scattered around—a discarded blanket, empty beer cans, and subtle remnants of an encounter that had nothing to do with combat.

"Holy crap, this is pure dreich," muttered the redheaded soldier, freckles stark against his pale skin, as he slumped against the Humvee's door. His thick Scottish brogue made every word a little harder to catch. "Ye'd think this place wid be a wee bit mair ex—"

"More what? D-dangerous? Life-threatening?" The soldier manning the .50 cal asked quietly, his voice a little shaky but calm enough to show he had been through this before. He pushed his glasses up nervously, scanning the area with careful, deliberate movements, always on alert, despite his modest tone.

"I was thinkin' mair along the lines o' lively, but aye, that'll dae!" the redhead replied, his thick accent dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back, grinning, while the soldier behind the .50 sighed heavily, shaking his head as he peeked out from the turret.

"Honestly, I don't understand how you, of all people, could be happy with… t-this," the gunner muttered, his voice quiet but firm. "I mean, we're completely alone, surrounded by prime ambush points, miles from reinforcements. Armed with nothing but our rifles and this .50 that I'm… uh, thankfully trained to use properly." His tone, while measured, carried the faint hint of nervousness.

The redhead scoffed, waving him off with a playful smirk. "Aye, stop bein' a right pain in the erse!" he said, his voice playful yet loud enough to cut through the tension. "Ah thought you Yanks were a' aboot the 'shooty-shooty bang-bang!'" He mimicked finger guns, "shooting" at the gunner with exaggerated motions, fully embracing the absurdity of their situation.

"Trust me, if we were, this whole damn mess would've been wrapped up before it even got going." A weary voice cut through the banter, drawing the attention of the other two. Around the bend of the old, crumbling checkpoint, a man in his mid-twenties appeared, flicking a cigarette to life with a well-worn lighter. The flame briefly illuminated the deep bags under his eyes and the small scar etched across his cheek, both testaments to how long he'd been at this.

"If it were up to me, I'd level the whole damn city," he muttered, taking a drag from the cigarette as his eyes scanned the distant horizon with the weight of too many battles behind them. "Hell, I'd flatten this entire country and hand the pilots enough medals to melt down and make a damn statue of themselves. We'd all be home by now." His tone was flat, worn, almost devoid of hope.

"Dohhh, ye dinnae mean that!" the red-head scoffed, strolling over and slinging an arm around the man's shoulder in a friendly, almost mocking gesture. "Aye, I might nae hae fought, but I've met ma fair share o' yer 'Marine Corps,' and they're tougher than ye gie them credit fur!"

The man with the cigarette raised an eyebrow, exhaling a thin trail of smoke. "You think we're anything like those jarheads?" His voice was laced with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion.

"Hey! Don't call them that!" Simon, the one manning the turret, suddenly piped up, a touch of defensiveness in his tone.

"Shut up, Simon," the smoker muttered, not even bothering to look back. Simon, now officially outed by name, let out a small sigh and shrank back into his post, dipping back into the turret of the Humvee, grumbling something under his breath.

"Ahhh, dinnae be too hard oan the lad. It's no his fault he ended up in the same department as thae numpties," the redhead said with a smirk, pulling a cigarette from his front pocket. As he walked away, he flicked his lighter a few times, trying to get a flame. "Aye, he's a guid lad when he's no' bein' a wee pest most o' the time."

"That 'lad' was apart of the same department that got a few thousand kids onto the frontlines," the smoker added, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a long puff of smoke.

"H-Hey! Just so y-you know, it was the department's fault! N-Not mine, OK?!" Simon stammered, popping back up from the turret, his voice defensive and a little strained. "Besides, it's not like we're the only ones that ever messed up! D-Didn't the Russ—"

"Shut yer hole and get back on the bloody gun, would ye?" the redhead snapped, cutting him off sharply. Then he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "As ah said, guid lad... maist o' the time."

"Oh, c'mon—"

"Quiet! Both of you!" the tired man snapped, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out with his boot. He swiftly brought his rifle up, peering through the ACOG sight, his movements precise and controlled. His breathing slowed, steadying like a sniper as he took aim at a distant hill. The sudden shift left the other two confused, watching in silence.

"W-What is it?" Simon asked nervously, swiveling the .50 Cal in the same direction, eyes darting back and forth between his scope and the man's line of sight.

"I saw something," the tired man muttered, his tone sharp, eyes focused.

"Aw, ye always say ye seen somethin'!" the redhead scoffed, taking a casual drag from his cigarette. "At this point, I swear ye're even mair paranoid than ma grandad after a few too many drams!"

"I'm telling you, I saw something," the man insisted, his teeth clenched, voice dripping with frustration.

"The last time ye said ye saw somethin', it wis just a random wee pigeon that somehow made it a' the way oot here," the redhead quipped, rolling his eyes.

"Wasn't it revealed later that the bird was a TRP carrier pigeon?" Simon chimed in.

"Ma point still stands," the redhead shot back quickly, waving it off. "Face it, Joseph, there's nothin' oot here. We're no findin' anythin'."

Joseph, now visibly annoyed, slowly lowered his rifle, clicking the safety back on as he sighed. "Keep saying that, and you'll wish for more 'boring' guard duties in the future." His voice was low, laced with irritation. "Besides, it doesn't hurt to be safe."

"There's a difference between bein' safe an' pure paranoid, like yer C.I.A. spooks," the redhead muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I-I have to agree with him," Simon stammered, still nervously scanning the horizon. "You've been a lot more... paranoid than you were during the war."

"That's because back then, the places we were stationed were already secured," Joseph replied, his tone flat but laced with frustration. "Here? Everywhere is hostile territory. Everyone either wants to kill you with a rock or blow you up with an RPG. Just yesterday! Some fucken' kid threw a rock at my head! What the hell is the point of manning our hummer with a .50 if we can't even use it!?"

He exclaimed as he shook his head. "Honestly, I'd rather go back to Moscow than spend another minute in this hellhole. At least the Russians were a little more tolerant after we saved their asses."

"Now that, I can agree on," Simon said, brightening slightly. "I still remember that sweet old lady giving me those muffins. Reminds me of home, like when my grandma used to bake for me."

"Didnae those muffins end up bein' made wi' vodka an' get half o' our unit pissed fer a week?" Cameron, the redhead, interjected with a chuckle.

"I was more shocked when you managed to shove seven of them down your throat without even stumbling," Simon said, eyes wide in recollection. "Like, seriously, how the hell did you do that?"

"Us Camerons have a long history wi' the drink," Cameron replied proudly. "Even when we were just wee lads. Ah had ma first drink when ah wis 'round twal. Best night o' ma life, ah swear tae ye. Met ma bird that same night too. So it was, as ye Americans say, a 'win-win.'"

"I'm not sure if I should be impressed or worried," Simon muttered, shaking his head.

"Probably both," Joseph cut in as he fished another cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a flick of his lighter. "At least you've got a life waiting after all this. And a steady stream of booze that'll either make you a pub owner or an alcoholic."

"Ah, dinnae start wi' that, Mr. 'I smoke twelve packs a day at least.' Ye'll be keelin' over from lung cancer long before ah choke on a twelve-pack," Cameron retorted, grinning as he took another drag from his cigarette.

"That, or pleasuring another man," Joseph quipped, sparking another round of laughter from him and Cameron. Meanwhile, Simon's face turned beet red. He quickly turned away, pretending to scan the horizon with sudden, intense focus to hide his embarrassment.

"If ye've got ten quid, ah'll dae it!" Cameron chimed in, deadpan, making Joseph laugh even harder while Simon shook his head in disbelief.

"Jesus, are you two really that perverted? And Cameron, seriously? You've got a girlfriend, man!"

"Aye, well, she cheated on me efter the first few months I wis deployed oan the war," Cameron replied with a shrug, hands on his hips, his grin still firmly in place. "But it's shite bein' her, 'cause ah've still got the army benefits." He smiled even wider, as if that settled the score.

"Oh… uh… I-I didn't mean to bring that up," Simon stammered, now fidgeting awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Aw, whit are ye two blatherin' oan about?" Cameron interrupted, waving them off like it was nothing. "Ah've already got anither fish in the net, tae be honest."

"That's... well, that's good to hear," Joseph started, then blinked, realizing what he'd said. "Wait, already?"

"Aye, of course!" Cameron shot back, puffing up his chest with mock offense. "Whit, ye think nae body's int'rested in wee ol' me?"

Joseph raised his hands in defense, trying not to laugh. "No, no! O-Of course not, man! I'm just... uh, surprised you found someone that fast."

"Aye, sure ye are…" Cameron lowered his fists, smirking as he leaned against the humvee. "Trust me, mate, it's nae that tough tae find someone as desperate as I am in oor unit."

Joseph paused, eyes narrowing. "Hold on… what?"

Cameron opened his mouth to respond, but before a single word could escape, a bone-chilling howl suddenly ripped through the night air. Simon nearly jumped out of his skin, instantly swiveling the .50 Cal toward the distant hill, his finger hovering anxiously over the trigger.

"W-What the hell was that!?" he stammered, peering through the iron sights, his voice shaky as his grip tightened on the mounted MG.

"Dinnae wet yer knickers, ye eejit," Cameron scoffed, shaking his head. "It's likely just a wolf or somethin'. Nae need tae be worried aboot it. We've dealt wi' plenty before. Fire a few rounds an' I'll let the lieutenant know so that daftie doesnae give us grief."

"R-Right! Got it!" Simon barked, squeezing off a three-round burst. The muzzle flashed, momentarily lighting up their dim checkpoint, and the tracers sliced through the night, kicking up dirt and dust on the hill.

"Y'know how much those bullets cost, right?" Joseph asked dryly as Simon fired another burst. "Command's not exactly thrilled about us wastin' ammo."

"It'll be fine. Nae need tae be so uptight," Cameron shrugged it off.

"I'm not bein' uptight; I'm bein' logical and thoughtful."

"Ye weren't bein' thoughtful when ye mixed grenade powder in ma canteen!"

"U-Uhh… g-guys?" Simon interrupted meekly, his eyes still fixed on the hill.

"Well, sorry for wantin' a bit of revenge when you blare Scottish folk music on a weeks-long convoy!" Joseph shot back.

"G-Guys, seriously?" Simon tried again, panic creeping into his voice.

"A'm sorry fur wantin' tae listen tae proper music! But wait—oh, ye can't even tell the difference atween someone takin' a shite an' real music!"

Joseph's expression darkened. "What the fuck did you just say, you ginger prick?"

"Guys! I'm not jokin— You really might wanna see—"

"Ah, ye want tae gang there, ye middle-aged, depressed gadgie?"

"I'm five years older than you!"

"Aye, an' that's the same difference as yer bloody jobby!"

"You son of a—"

"GUYS!"

"WHAT!?" they both snapped, finally turning toward Simon, who was now pale, his eyes wide with terror.

He pointed toward the hill, his hand trembling. "L-LOOK!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

Both Joseph and Cameron followed his line of sight, expecting to see a convoy of insurgent vehicles cresting the horizon. Driving toward them like it was some sort of technical cavalry charge. Instead, they were greeted by something far stranger—several glowing red lights, hovering just over the rise, as if watching them.

"Hae we got ony units o'er that way?" Cameron asked, heading toward the Humvee, his voice carrying a note of unease as he grabbed a pair of binoculars.

"Not that I know of," Joseph replied, raising his rifle and peering through the ACOG sight. His usual calm demeanor wavered, suspicion creeping in. "Could be some of our drones doin' recon. Maybe the choppers. Their lights should be on."

"D-Don't drones have signals or something to stop 'em from crashin' into other aircraft?" Simon piped up, his nervousness only adding to the rising tension. "A-And don't we have only two or four choppers in the air?"

"The lad's got a point," Cameron muttered, eyes narrowing as he hopped out of the Humvee, still holding the binoculars. He wasn't joking anymore. "D'ye think it's a few T-90s? Thir things hae those creepy red eyes oan the front o' their turrets."

"If it were a T-90, we'd already be smoked. Plus, I doubt those TRP bastard would be this dumb to expose that many tanks when we got birds in the air." Joseph responded, voice tense as he squinted through his scope, trying to shake off the creeping worry. He cursed under his breath. "Shit, I can't see a damn thing through this."

"Dinnae worry, I've got it," Cameron assured, though there was a slight tremor in his voice now. He raised the binoculars and scanned the distance. "Right, let's see. Sand, dead bushes, dirt, an'... a knackered BMP."

Joseph shot him a sharp look. "Could you stop sightseeing and focus on those lights before we get butt-fucked into oblivion!?"

"A'm gettin' tae it, God!" Cameron hissed, squinting through the binoculars. "Awright, let's see… red eyes, tall frame—"

Joseph started to nod. "I kne—"

"Hold on… black fur… huge claws…" Cameron's voice trailed off as his expression shifted from annoyed to tense. His hands gripped the binoculars tighter as he scanned the horizon again. "Whit the hell am I lookin' at?"

"Black fur and big claws? Are you on something right now?" Joseph asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Aye, and trust me, I echt wish ah was," Cameron muttered, shaking his head. "Maybe someone laced yer cigs wi' coke, eh?"

"If they did, I'd know," Joseph said dryly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

"Talkin' fae experience, are ye?" Cameron quipped, earning a shrug from Joseph.

"So, what do you think we're dealing with? Some escaped animal from the new habitats we've been setting up?"

"Nah, cannae be. We're bringin' in native animals that the former UN managed tae shelter before everythin' went tae shite. That's definitely no' one o' them," Cameron replied, his voice serious now. "Ah've seen near every convoy, and there's nothin' like this."

"I-I heard some animals are migrating out of their natural habitats, moving tae places like this, where conditions suit 'em better," Simon chimed in nervously, still scanning the horizon. "Think that's what we're dealing with?"

"If so, we're in for a headache when the environmentalists find out we pointed a .50 cal at it," Joseph groaned, rubbing his temple at the thought of having to explain this to clueless bureaucrats who'd never seen a battlefield. "Endless paperwork and protestors who don't know the first thing about surviving out here…"

"Alright, Simon, point the .50 away from the damn thing. Last thing we need is accidentally killin' it and endin' up in deeper shite than we already are."

Simon hesitated but eventually swiveled the mounted machine gun away from the creature. "You think it's gonna attack?" he asked quietly.

"Doubt it," Joseph replied, glancing back at Cameron. "Call command. Let 'em know we've got a possible Code IFAW here. Tell 'em to get animal handlers out here, fast."

Cameron nodded, rushing back to the Humvee. He grabbed the radio, twisting knobs and adjusting frequencies. Meanwhile, Joseph stood there, taking another long drag from his cigarette as the red eyes gleamed menacingly from the distance.

"God, this day just keeps gettin' better, doesn't it?" Joseph muttered to himself, watching the creature. Its eyes… there was something about them. Not just animal instinct. It was like they were staring directly into him, waiting.

Joseph reached for the radio with a mix of resignation and frustration. His nerves were already frayed from the strange sight of those red eyes in the distance, and now he had to deal with command breathing down his neck. He knew how this conversation would go. He brought the radio up to his mouth. "This is Joseph—"

Before he could finish, an angry voice blasted through the speaker. "Goddamn it, Joseph! What the hell were you thinking!?" The voice was so loud that Joseph instinctively jerked the radio away from his ear. "Using a mounted HMG on a possible Code IFAW!? Do you even have a brain in that thick skull of yours?"

Joseph's eyes rolled as the voice continued to chew him out. He already knew who it was. Lieutenant Hawke. The man had a reputation for being temperamental, especially when it came to the Project IFAW. As if Joseph's day couldn't get any worse. He took a deep breath and replied, "I know, sir, I was just trying to keep my men safe—"

"Safe? Don't give me that bullshit, Specialist!" Hawke's voice dripped with condescension, and Joseph could practically see him pacing back and forth in whatever air-conditioned bunker he was calling from. "Do you have any idea what could've happened if you'd fired at a protected species?! You think your track record gives you room to screw up?"

"I'm aware, sir, but—"

"Don't 'but' me!" Hawke snapped, cutting him off again. "We all remember France. Don't act like you've got the moral high ground here. You ran over a goddamn IFAW back then! You've been on thin ice ever since, Joseph, and this… this might just be your last screw-up. Do you understand what that means?"

"I get it," Joseph said tersely, trying to keep his voice steady. "But it's not the same this time. We've got something different out here—"

"Different, huh? Is that your excuse now? You think anything's changed just because you're not in a combat zone? You screw this up, Joseph, and I swear, I'll have you mopping floors at a wildlife reserve for the rest of your career."

Joseph bit back his frustration, forcing his voice to stay calm. "Sir, I didn't fire. I just positioned the gun in case it was a threat. We haven't engaged."

"Well, good thing you didn't, because if you had, you'd be neck-deep in lawsuits and protests from every environmental group still standing! Do you know what kind of hell would rain down on us if you killed a classified IFAW?"

"I understand, sir," Joseph said, though his patience was running dangerously thin.

"Do you really?" Hawke's voice simmered with disbelief. "Because I'm not convinced, Specialist. You're on the edge here. I'm sending a drone to your location to monitor the situation, and you're to stay the hell away from it. Do not engage, do not provoke, and for God's sake, don't try to be a hero. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Joseph replied sharply, ending the call before Hawke could say anything else. He tossed the radio onto the seat beside him, then leaned forward and slammed his forehead against the metal dashboard with a dull thud.

"God, why me…" he groaned, muttering into the dashboard as he hit his head again. The pressure in his skull felt like it might explode.

Cameron leaned over from the driver's seat, raising an eyebrow. "Everythin' alright there, lad? Naebody important ye knew just kicked the bucket, did they?"

Joseph let out a long, weary sigh. "Only my hopes and dreams of today of today being normal." He lifted his head just long enough to drop it again with a solid thump.

Cameron smirked, giving him a firm pat on the back. "Ach, quit yer whinin'. We've still got tae mark the damn thing or else command'll be ridin' oor arses again. Ye dinnae want tae deal wi' Hawke twice in one day, do ye?"

Joseph groaned in response, rubbing his forehead where it had collided with the metal. He reached for the laser pointer with a defeated sigh. "I swear, that man's Satan incarnate."

Cameron chuckled, trying to lighten the mood as they got back to business. "Better get tae it before he sends a whole squad just tae make sure ye dinnae screw up again."

Simon, crouching nervously near the turret, piped up. "I-I can do it if you just want to sit here, Joseph."

"No!/Hell no!" Joseph and Cameron both shouted at the same time, startling poor Simon so much he almost leaped out of his seat.

"W-Wha-Why not?!"

Cameron held up a hand, trying to soften the blow. "Look, Simon, lad, it's no' aboot hurtin' yer feelin's, aye? But—"

"But we're not gettin' hunted down again like last time when you marked our Humvee as the Code IFAW," Joseph interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"H-Hey! In my defense, they didn't give clear instructions on how to use that thing!"

"And in my defense to your defense, I don't want to deal with another mob of scientists excited to meet Sonic the bloody Hedgehog," Joseph snapped back, grabbing a laser pointer from the glove compartment before stepping out of the vehicle. Cameron followed closely behind.

"Did ye really have tae be that harsh on the wee lad?" Cameron asked with a smirk. "Ye knaw he didnae mean tae muck it up last time."

Joseph shot him an incredulous look. "You try dealin' with a bunch of civilians who think they know better than we do. One of them chewed me out for an hour, and then puked after seein' a body on the road! You think that's fucking fun? Go be my guest!"

He raised the laser pointer and aimed it in the general direction of the creature. As the red dot flickered across the terrain, his voice dropped. "And I… I don't want Simon to go through the same shit."

Cameron's smirk softened into a knowing grin. "Aye, ah figured. Ye dinnae want the lad tae face what ye had tae face back then, huh?"

Joseph looked over, confused and a bit irritated. "What the hell are you grinnin' like that?"

Cameron raised his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. "Nothin'. Ah'm just not used tae seein' this side of ye. Soft spot for Simon, eh?"

"Huh!? What the hell are you on about?!"

"Nothin', nothin'," Cameron laughed, shaking his head. "Just sayin', tha-"

He didn't have a chance to finish what he said as a series eerie howls pierced the air around them. The suddenness and sheer volume made it sound as if the source was right beside them, yet their eyes found nothing but empty terrain as the two of them instinctively raised their rifles, sweeping the area.

Then they saw it.

The lone wolf stood in the distance, its silhouette barely visible, its head tilted back as it howled, seemingly joining the chorus.

"Seems like our Code IFAW brought some friends," Cameron muttered, his grip tightening on his weapon.

"Yeah, no shit," Joseph shot back, reaching over his shoulder. His hand patted around aimlessly before his brow furrowed. "Ahhh, shit. I forgot we're still charging our radios because someone thought it'd be hilarious to blast Scottish music over every damn frequency last week without telling us where it was coming from!"

"Oh right, now, after our heart-to-heart?" Cameron quipped, half-smirking.

"It wasn't even a fu—just go report to command that we've got more IFAWs! For fuck's sake!" Joseph snapped, snatching the binoculars out of Cameron's hands. Making them huff as they stomped back toward the Humvee.

As Joseph raised the binoculars to his eyes, his sarcasm quickly dissolved into confusion. He lowered them for a moment, blinking, then brought them back up again, his hands trembling slightly. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Standing far off, the wolf wasn't just a wolf anymore.

It stood on its hind legs, upright like some twisted imitation of a human. Its long claws were fully extended, and its red, unblinking eyes locked directly onto Joseph's. It was as if the creature knew exactly who he was, as if it was daring him to act.

"What the hell…" Joseph muttered, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to comprehend what he just saw.

'Awe hell naw! I know where this goes!" he thought as he bolted toward the Humvee, his boots kicking up dust as he threw the door open and jumped inside. Cameron and Simon barely had time to process what was happening before Joseph started yelling.

"Drive! Drive! Drive!" he screamed, panting as he glanced back at the binoculars. His eyes widened as he saw the creature closing in on them, running on its hind legs with terrifying speed.

"Wha' the—Joseph, what the bloody hell are ye up tae—"

"Just drive!" Joseph barked, shoving the binoculars into Cameron's chest.

Cameron's expression went from confusion to alarm as he grabbed the binoculars and looked for himself. His jaw dropped. "Whit in the Lord's name is that!?"

The wolf was charging toward them, eyes glowing, claws outstretched, and moving far too fast for any normal animal.

"Something I don't want to stick around and find out!" Joseph yelled. He slapped Simon's leg hard enough to make him jump. "Hey! Waste it!"

"W-What?" Simon stammered, his face pale as he glanced from Joseph to the oncoming wolf. "But you said not to shoot it! It's a Code IFAW! Protocol—"

"Och, for Christ's sake, laddie! Ye heard the lad!" Cameron bellowed, grabbing Simon by the shoulders. "Just bloody shoot it!"

"You heard him! Waste it!" Joseph repeated, panic creeping into his voice.

Simon's hands shook as he reached for the trigger, torn between following protocol and the primal terror gripping him. "I-I-"

"JUST DO IT!" they both screamed.

Finally, Simon buckled, pulling the trigger of the mounted .50 cal. A thunderous roar filled the air as a hail of tracers streaked toward the wolf. The rounds kicked up dirt and debris around the creature, but instead of retreating, it only seemed to move faster, its glowing eyes never breaking contact with them.

"Wha—What the hell was that!? I told you to waste it, not fire a damn warning shot!"

"P-Protocol says we're supposed to issue a warning shot first before engaging a potential threat!" Simon stammered, still in shock.

"Does that thing look like it cares about protocol?" Joseph yelled, his eyes glued to the wolf as it closed the distance.

"Ah, fuck it!" Cameron growled, throwing his rifle into the back seat. He grabbed Simon by the legs and hauled him off the turret. "Outta the way! I'm gunning!"

"H-Huh—AHH GOD!" Simon screamed as Cameron yanked him down from the turret. In the same swift motion, Cameron popped up, gripping the M2 Browning's handles with a fierce determination. He squeezed the trigger hard, unleashing a deafening volley of fire.

This time, his aim was dead-on, and the heavy rounds slammed straight into the wolf's head, vaporizing it in an instant. What remained was a grotesque stump before the creature's body crumpled lifelessly onto the desert floor.

But Cameron wasn't done. He let loose another burst, peppering the wolf's motionless form. The rounds punched deep craters into its corpse, tearing through black fur, muscle, and bone, reducing it to an unrecognizable mess of shredded tissue and scattered remains.

"Haha! Gie it a eatin', ye bampot bastard!" Cameron shouted triumphantly, his thick Scottish accent ringing out as Joseph and Simon released a collective sigh of relief, grateful the nightmare seemed to be over.

"… You know command is going to have our asses for this, r-right?" Simon mumbled, breaking the silence as the others turned to stare at him.

"Can't you just enjoy the moment for two damn seconds?" Joseph groaned, rubbing his forehead before slamming it down onto the Humvee's dashboard. The thought of the impending mountain of paperwork made him want to crawl into a hole.

Cameron slapped Simon on the back with a hearty chuckle. "Awright, laddie! Look at the sunny side! At least we're no' brown bread! Aye, no yet, mind ye that, but still, no' brown bread!"

Simon blinked in confusion. "I don't even understand what you're saying half the time!"

"Oi! Shut up," Joseph interjected, grabbing his rifle and kicking open the Humvee's door with a sudden burst of energy. "Simon, get your rifle. Cameron, keep the fifty on it, and if that thing so much as twitches, blow it to hell again."

"Wh-Wha—What are we doing?" Simon stammered as he fumbled for his weapon.

"We're going to make sure it's dead," Joseph replied coldly, hopping out of the vehicle.

"Make su—It's already dead! W-Why do we need to get closer to it? It could be carrying something l-like rabies!?"

"Yeah, well, better to find out now than later, right?" Joseph muttered, shaking his head. "Look, if you're that scared, stay here. I'll check it out."

Simon nodded eagerly, relief washing over his face.

"And keep an eye on the horizon," Joseph added, his tone serious. "If there's one, there's probably-"

Suddenly, a piercing howl shattered the eerie quiet, making all three soldiers snap to attention. Their hearts pounded in sync with the sudden surge of adrenaline as they swung their weapons around, desperately scanning the desolate surroundings for the source.

Then came another howl. And another. And another! The sound grew louder, closer, as if it was coming from every direction at once, surrounding them like a deathly chorus. The howls layered together until it felt like they were the last human beings on Earth, facing an unstoppable, invisible enemy.

"Fuck! Simon! Get back in the fucking Humvee, now!" Joseph barked, and Simon didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Cameron followed, while Joseph grabbed the radio with shaky hands.

"Command, this is Checkpoint 2-9! I repeat, Checkpoint 2-9, do you copy? Over!"

The radio crackled, followed by a familiar, exasperated voice. "Goddamn it, Specialist, what now? You better not have killed the IFAW, or I swear to God I'll put my foot so far up your ass you'll—"

"We killed it, sir," Joseph interrupted bluntly, his tone grim. "But we had good reason to."

"You—what!? What!?" The voice on the other end exploded in fury, nearly rattling the radio's speaker. "Specialist, you better give me one hell of a reason why I shouldn't demote you so hard you'll have to beg for promotions in the cafeteria—"

"It wasn't an IFAW, sir," Joseph cut in again, his voice wavering slightly. "I don't even know what the hell it was."

"… What do you mean?" The commanding officer's tone shifted, the anger draining from his voice as he picked up on Joseph's fear.

"I-I don't even know where to start," Joseph muttered, his eyes still fixed on the grotesque remains of the werewolf. "But whatever it was… it's not something we're trained for. And we need reinforcements. Now. Everyone you can get. Call the Army, call the Marines, call the Air Force—hell, call PETA if you have to. Because what I've got here is way above my pay grade."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then a sigh. "Specialist, what the hell is going on over there? Did Cameron put you up to this?"

"Trust me! If I wanted to prank you, I wouldn't have gone this far into it. It's too much work!" Cameron yelled as he kept an eye out along the horizon.

"A-And it's not a prank, sir!" Simon's voice cracked as he gripped the radio. "S-Something really bad is happening! I-I'm not exaggerating this time. I know I overreact, but this... this is bad, like really bad!"

"Alright, alright, calm down, both of you," the voice on the other end responded, calm but dismissive. "I'll send someone to check things out. In the meantime, hold your position until further notice. Got it?"

"Hold our— Sir, did you not hear me!? There's something here, and—"

"And you've got a .50 cal, Specialist. If it's not the TRP or Afghan forces, you can handle it," Command cut him off, the disinterest clear in their tone. Joseph slammed his hand on the Humvee's dashboard in frustration, grateful he hadn't pressed the transmit button. "As I said, hold out until reinforcements arrive. Command out."

"No! No! Wait—" Joseph yelled, trying to get one last word in before they abruptly cut the line. He stared at the radio for a moment, his disbelief turning to fury as he hurled the handheld mic across the cabin. "Goddamn it!"

"J-Jesus, did you have to throw it!?" Simon scrambled to pick up the mic, relieved to find it wasn't damaged.

"Doesn't fucking matter. Command's not listening to us anyway," Joseph muttered, waving Simon off. "Cameron, get ready to shoot on the move. We're getting the hell out of here."

"We are? But didn't Command say to hold position until reinforcements—" Cameron started, but Joseph slowly turned to face him, eyes narrowing.

"First of all, since when the fuck did we care about what Command tells us to do? And second, can you not hear the death howling around us?!"

Cameron suddenly burst into laughter, catching both men off guard. "Oh, ah dinnae think ye ken, ma American pal," he said between chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. "We've been stuck with bleedin' boring jobs since we signed up. But now—now it's like God himsel' has dropped this scrap right in our laps! Ye think I'm gonnae turn that doon?"

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes!" Joseph snapped back, exasperated. "There are smarter ways to fight, like retreating to our allies, covering our flanks, and shooting these things from a distance where we're not likely to die!"

"Bahhh, where's the fun in that?" Cameron waved dismissively. "Besides, we shredded that last one with the .50 cal. What's a few more? And I've been dying to add kill marks to the turret. It's on my bucket list!"

"Just how psychotic are you!?" Simon asked, baffled, but the look Joseph and Cameron exchanged made him pause. He sighed and shrugged. "F-Fair enough."

"Honestly, I don't know what you expected with that question," Joseph muttered, turning back to scan the horizon through the Humvee's windows. The howling outside was fading. Maybe that was a good sign.

Then the rumbling started.

At first, the shaking was subtle, almost imperceptible, as if the earth was merely settling beneath them. No one would've noticed unless they were paying close attention. But then, like the distant roll of thunder creeping closer, the tremors grew stronger. The humvee's dashboard rattled faintly at first, then more violently. Scattered candy and crumpled wrappers danced in place, vibrating with the force of whatever was coming.

And then it happened.

Beyond the plains, atop the same hill where they had first spotted the creature, something dark began to shift. A shadow, a black mass, rippled across the horizon like ink spilling over the landscape. At first, it was just a shape, amorphous and indistinct, but then—red eyes. Thousands of them, burning like embers in the gathering dusk, flaring with malevolent purpose. They weren't just glowing; they were watching. Staring directly at them.

The reddish hue stretched across the hilltop like a false dawn, a second sun rising in the distance. Only this "sun" was nothing but a seething, blood-red glow—eyes, countless pairs of eyes, all trained on the humvee. Each one radiated the same unholy hunger, the same vengeful promise of destruction. They weren't just eyes—they were the same creatures, the same beasts like the one they'd managed to kill. Only now, they were legion.

"… S-S-Sir?"

"Y-Yeah?" Joseph responded, his voice strained with tension.

"P-Permission to drive us the hell out of here?!"

"Motherfucking granted!" Joseph screamed, barely able to control his panic as Simon fumbled for his seatbelt. "Cameron, li-"

"Lighting them the fuck up!" Cameron bellowed, his grin wild as he slammed down on the trigger of the .50 cal. This time, there was no restraint—no short, controlled bursts. He unleashed a full-auto torrent of firepower, the heavy gun roaring like an angry beast. Spent shell casings clattered to the humvee's roof as the belt-fed machine gun spat lead into the oncoming horde.

The creatures were unlike anything they'd ever faced, and Cameron didn't care about accuracy anymore. The sheer mass of them meant every round had to hit something. His only goal was to keep them at bay—keep them away from the humvee, away from his comrades, and away from certain death.

The 12.7x99mm NATO rounds did their work, punching clean through the creatures with brutal force. Flesh and bone disintegrated under the onslaught, black blood spraying into the air as beasts unlucky enough to be struck went down in mangled heaps. But for every one that fell, it seemed ten more surged forward, their red eyes gleaming with fury.

It wasn't enough.

The rounds tore through the creatures, but their sheer numbers made it impossible to hold them back. Each one that was cut down seemed to embolden the rest, their anger growing fiercer. The deafening roar of gunfire and the whine of the humvee's engine were drowned out by the blood-curdling howls that echoed from the hilltop.

What fools.

The creature stood on its hind legs, towering above the others as it watched its brethren surge toward the fleeing vehicle. Its red eyes gleamed with malicious hunger. Although it didn't know where it was exactly, one thing was certain—the air was thick with the scent of fear, anger, and hatred.

It reveled in these emotions. To the Grimm, these feelings were sustenance, a rich energy to be harvested from the fragile humans. It didn't care where they had come from, nor did it need to. All that mattered was the raw emotion that radiated from the humans like a beacon.

Confusion flickered in its mind, briefly questioning the strange place and the odd machines these humans used, but such thoughts were fleeting. In the end, it wouldn't matter. These humans were prey, and no matter how hard they fought, no matter how powerful their weapons were, they would fall like all the rest.

No human could stop a horde this large. The Grimm felt nothing but certainty in that.

…

Morgan and Cole weren't exactly having a great day. But it wasn't the worst either.

Sure, they had been ambushed by a combined force of TRP and Afghan insurgents, who had tried to turn them into mincemeat. But thanks to a mix of quick thinking, UAV support, and a decent bit of dumb luck, they'd managed to turn the tables. Inflicting heavy losses and forcing the insurgents to retreat out of the city.

Still, victory came with a cost.

They'd lost nearly a dozen of their own, and the casualty count was climbing. Almost two dozen wounded, some of them critical. The toll weighed heavier with every hour. The fighting had dragged on until well past midnight, and by the time 2 AM rolled around, they were sweeping the city for any remaining resistance. There were a few last pockets of insurgents, desperate and cornered, but eventually, they were wiped out. The city was finally theirs. Emptied of threats, but not without a bitter price.

"Y'know," Morgan suddenly said over the radio, "I heard they're starting to open up those habitats. Turning them into little oases all across Afghanistan."

"Yeah, while dragging in random animals from every corner of the globe into this wasteland," Cole replied, shaking his head. "Swear to God, the eggheads at what's left of the UN don't have a clue what they're doing."

"Amen to that, Cole." Morgan sighed. "Hell, I got a letter from my son a few days ago. Says that PETA and the UN are on a mission to just snatch animals from anywhere they can and drop 'em into these zones. Apparently, it's all part of some grand plan to 'help fix the effects of the Climate Crisis.'"

"Yeah, real funny how a bunch of those 'rescued' animals ended up in the hands of African warlords." Cole said, sparking a few chuckles through the convoy's comms. "I swear, I miss the old UN—at least they didn't pull shit like that."

"Even though they were incompetent as hell?"

"Exactly."

"Well, at least they're doing something now," Morgan said. "Not that it makes up for the fact that those blue-helmet bastards were always corrupt. Guess after everything fell apart, they figured no one would care enough to call them out anymore."

"Bold move for an organization that could barely keep it together back then." Cole added with a smirk, his tone still tinged with cynicism.

"U-Ummm, sir?"

"For fu—what now, Anderson?" Cole barked, spinning around in his seat to glare at the MRAP trailing behind them, where Anderson was seated. "And it better be a damn good reason other than 'I'm carsick.' For Christ's sake, grab a bag and deal with it!"

"It's not that, sir." Anderson's voice trembled a bit. "I'm on the line with someone and… well—"

"Well, what? Spit it out, son!"

"They… they sound like they're in trouble."

Cole's scowl vanished in an instant, replaced by a furrowed brow. "Say that again?"

"The guys we're supposed to reinforce? Checkpoint 2-9? Yeah, they said they're pulling back from their position and heading straight for us. ETA, less than a minute."

Cole's fists clenched on the steering wheel. "Are you kidding me? Why the hell are those idiots retreating already? What part of 'hold your position until we arrive' did they not get!?"

"Apparently, all of it." Morgan muttered from the front, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So much for being experienced. Babysitters can't even keep their pants on, let alone hold a position."

"That's not all, sir," Anderson added, voice wavering. "They said they engaged… an unknown enemy. Both origin and strength are unclear, but enough to make them pack their shit and run."

Cole blinked, his confusion evident. "What? Say again?"

"Unknown enemy. Strength and origin unknown." Anderson swallowed hard. "I'm trying to make sense of what they're saying, but sir… I think you should hear it for yourself."

"Of course, I should," Cole grumbled, reaching for the built-in radio. He twisted the dial, static crackling to life, mingling with faint, frantic voices cutting in and out, as he tuned into the frequency of Checkpoint 2-9.

And got something out of both a horror and comedy movie.

"—SUS CHRIST, CAMERON! JUST SHOOT THE DAMN THING! IT'S RIGHT ON OUR ASS!" The voice came through the radio in a panicked shout, barely audible over the deafening roar of their engine straining to full throttle.

"AH'M FOOKIN' TRYIN', YE DAMN EEJIT! SHUT YER GOB AN' LET ME DO MA BLOODY JOB!" came the thick, Scottish-accented response, likely from "Cameron." The deep, thunderous bursts of the .50 cal immediately followed, filling the air as he unleashed everything the gun had. Along with the familiar, violent rattle blended into the guttural growl of the 6.2L diesel engine, both working in frantic unison as the Humvee strained to escape whatever was pursuing them.

"F-Fuck! It's jammed!" Cameron's voice exclaimed. Panic gripping his every word as he began to curse.

"Jammed!? Simon, you said you fixed that thing last week!" came another angry shout, frustration palpable.

"I-I did!" Simon stammered, clearly at a loss.

"WELL, CLEARLY YOU DIDN'T!" The furious voice yelled just as the radio crackled with a loud thud—probably the Humvee hitting something—causing more shouting, clattering, and muffled curses.

"SIMON!" The voice barked again, panic starting to creep in.

"I-I got it! Yeah, I got it!" Simon shouted, his voice shaking but resolute as the unmistakable pop of gunfire cut through the chaos. The sound of shattering glass followed, then a brief, high-pitched yelp, and suddenly the radio erupted in laughter and cheers.

"Aye! Guid shot, lad! Ye might nae be as useless as ah first thocht!"

"T-Thanks?" Simon's reply came through, uncertain, but relieved.

"What the hell is going on!?" Cole suddenly barked into the radio, his voice thick with tension. For a moment, all he heard was static, the sounds of chaos in the background before someone finally answered.

"Uhhh, kinda busy here! Please leave a message after the beep—ah, shit! Cameron! Four o'clock! Light that bastard up!" came the frantic reply, a barrage of gunfire immediately following.

"Wil-furkin'-co!" Cameron shouted, his accent cutting through the mayhem as more .50 cal rounds rang out in the background.

"Sorry about that!" the voice continued, now laced with adrenaline. "As I was saying, leave a message after the beep, or after we crash and die in a fiery ball of death—or maybe when you decide to stop sittin' on your asses and actually help us!"

Cole stuttered, both impressed and baffled by the sheer audacity and profanity-laced response. "Who the hell is this!?"

"This is Specialist Joseph Hudson! I'd give you a handshake, but I'm a little busy at the moment!" Joseph shouted, his voice dripping with sarcastic humor despite the situation.

"I can tell!" Cole growled, holding back a smirk despite himself. "Just tell us where the hell you are, son, and we'll come get you!"

"Look up ahead!" Joseph called back, sounding more urgent now.

Confused, Cole and the rest of the convoy did as instructed, glancing toward the horizon.

"What the f—" Cole didn't even have time to finish his thought as a Humvee came flying over the small hill in front of them, soaring through the air like some insane action movie stunt. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, nearly losing control as it skidded and fishtailed violently. Somehow, it managed to regain stability, barreling toward them at breakneck speed.

Both convoys slammed to a screeching halt, dust kicking up in clouds as tires bit into the ground, barely stopping short of a catastrophic collision. Cole's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the Humvee in disbelief.

"Jesus fuck!" Cole cursed, heart still racing from the near collision. He slammed the door of the MRAP behind him, stepping out into the dusty chaos. "Hey! Watch where you're driving, you asshats!" he shouted at the Humvee that had nearly turned their convoy into scrap metal.

"Aw, go hump yersel'!" came the retort from the Humvee's gunner, a thick Scottish accent cutting through the air. Cole paused, momentarily speechless. He couldn't decide whether to chew them out or give them a medal for sheer audacity.

"Which one of you is Private First-Class Joseph Hudson?" Cole called out, his tone regaining some authority as he shook his head.

"He's richt doon there!" the gunner, who Cole figured must be "Cameron," responded with a grin, nodding toward the Humvee's interior. "Ah'm returnin' a favor he was owed tae me, if ye get ma meaning!" Cameron added with a chuckle.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!" another voice snapped as the Humvee's driver door creaked open. A tired-looking soldier in his mid-twenties climbed out, flipping the gunner the bird as Cameron's laughter rang out. "Private First-Class Joseph Hudson, at your service. I'm guessing you're our backup?"

"That's right," Cole confirmed, amused by the banter.

"Well, great," Joseph muttered, running a hand over his face. "Listen, I'd love to stand around and chat, but we've got bigger fucking fish to fry."

Cole chuckled. "Don't worry, son. I think I've got a general idea of who's who around here. So, who are we dealing with? TRP? Afghan insurgents? Some rogue No-Pat group?"

Joseph shook his head. "No, sir. None of those. To be completely honest with you, I don't even know what we're dealing with." He hesitated before adding, "Pardon my language, sir."

"That's alright," Cole waved off the apology. "But I'll save the ass-chewing for later. Form up on our left flank. We're making a stand on the hill behind us until our flyboys and the rest of the cavalry arrive."

"W-Wait, what?" Another voice cut in, panicked, as the passenger-side door of the Humvee swung open. A jittery soldier practically tumbled out, hastily dusting himself off before rushing over to Cole. "Sir, with all due respect, w-we need to get the hell out of here! Now! There's no way we can hold off whatever's coming!"

Cole turned to face the man, his expression hardening. "Then how about you explain to me what is coming, huh? Because all I'm hearing is 'run,' and I'm not going anywhere until I know what the hell we're up against!"

Joseph opened his mouth, about to explain the danger looming just behind them. But he didn't have to. The ground beneath them began to tremble—a subtle, faint rumble at first, barely noticeable, but it quickly grew in intensity. Pebbles and rocks bounced on the dirt like they were caught in a wild drumbeat, and the tremor rippled underfoot. Cole and his men, clueless to what was coming, looked down in confusion. The thought of an earthquake crossed their minds.

But Joseph, Simon, and Cameron knew better.

"Oi! We gotta move! Like right now!" Cameron yelled, urgency sharpening his voice.

"No fucking shit!" Joseph shouted, turning toward Simon. "Simon, get in the car! Now!"

Simon didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted toward the Humvee, diving into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as if the very air behind him was on fire. The engine roared to life, and before anyone could react, the Humvee peeled away, kicking up a cloud of dust and leaving Cole and his men in a choking, swirling fog of dirt and exhaust.

"H-Hey! C-Come back here, you—" Cole coughed, staggering backward, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the thick smoke. His lungs burned as he inhaled more dust, forcing him to cough even harder. Two of his men rushed over, their expressions tense.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of them asked as they moved to check him over.

"I-I'm fine," Cole managed between hacking coughs, pounding his chest to clear his throat. His face reddened with irritation, both at the situation and at the fact that he'd just been left standing there like a fool.

"Get command on the line," he ordered, his voice raspy. "Ask if they're picking up any earthquakes on their end. If not, warn them now!" He paused for a moment, then barked another command. "And tell Morgan to trail those bastards! I might appreciate a bit of spunk, but this—this is not the time to leave us hanging!"

"Sir?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah, I know, that came out wrong. L-Lemme rephrase that for a sec—"

"No, sir, I think you really need to see this." One of the soldiers helping him up interrupted, pointing behind Cole with a trembling hand. Cole, confused, glanced at the soldier before turning to look where he was pointing.

His jaw dropped.

Standing on the hill, like something ripped straight out of a nightmare, was a gigantic wolf. But not just any wolf—this one had glowing red eyes and was standing upright on its hind legs, towering over them like a menacing shadow. Its black and white fur whipped dramatically in the wind like some over-the-top anime character. The creature's glowing red eyes locked directly on Cole, unblinking and sharp, almost like it was sizing him up for a meal.

"What the actual fuck is that?" Cole stammered, blinking several times as if that would change what he was seeing.

"I dunno. Some kind of... IFAW cross-breed project? Did PETA forget to send us the memo?" the soldier next to him muttered, clearly just as bewildered.

"It looks like a furry convention reject…" one of the other soldiers chimed in, staring at the beast. "Still kinda hot though. Would tap."

"Bro, what the fuck?" someone else snapped, shooting him a horrified look.

"What? Am I wrong?"

The first soldier raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You're seriously checking out a wolf the size of a goddamn building and thinking about—"

"Hey, I'm just saying! Objectively, it's got, like, alpha energy. I wouldn't mind getting stepped on."

"DONUT!"

"Excuse me!" Cole called out, trying to ignore the murmurs of disbelief among his men as he stepped forward, addressing the massive, wolf-like creature looming over them. "My name is First Lieutenant Cole Harrison of the 3rd Army Recon! I don't know who-... what, you are…"

"But I have to let you know that you're impeding a United States military operation, and I'm going to have to ask you, from the bottom of my heart—"

In one smooth motion, Cole drew his well-worn M1911A1 from its holster, leveling the barrel at the creature's head. His men followed his lead, aiming rifles, mounted .50 cals, and even a MK19 grenade launcher at the beast. The air was tense as fingers tightened on triggers.

"—to surrender," Cole continued, his voice steady, "before I light you up like the Fourth of July."

For a moment, it was as if time froze. The strange creature, towering and foreboding, stood utterly still, its red eyes narrowing as it assessed the bizarre weapons pointed at it. Cole couldn't shake the feeling that, for just a second, it smirked. But before he could process that, the beast tilted its head back and unleashed a thunderous roar. The sound echoed off the hills, shaking the ground and causing rocks and debris to tremble. Then the rumbling grew louder—no longer faint but deafening—as if the earth itself was responding to the creature's call.

Cole's confidence wavered as dread crept into his chest. His sidearm lowered, if only slightly.

"Run…" he whispered, his voice almost lost amidst the growing chaos.

"S-Sir?" one of his men stammered, eyes wide.

Cole snapped back to reality, his voice rising to a panicked shout. "RUN! I said fucking RUN! It's a fucking stamped!"

Without waiting for a response, Cole holstered his sidearm and shoved the two soldiers nearest him, urging them to move. The squad burst into action, scrambling toward their MRAPs as fast as they could. Engines roared to life, and within seconds, they were peeling away, backing up and making a sharp 180-degree turn to retreat. Dust and exhaust kicked up behind them as the vehicles disappeared over the hill, the roar of the engines barely masking the sound of the approaching horde.

As the convoy vanished into the distance, the strange wolf remained where it stood, unmoved and seemingly unconcerned by the earth-shaking thunder of its kind approaching. Why would it be? It wasn't running—no, this was its domain.

Soon, the ground beneath its paws quaked even harder as a massive swarm of dark, hulking Beowolves rushed past it like a living flood. The creature stood like an immovable rock in a river, the tide of beasts flowing around it without hesitation. They weren't focused on their kin. They had only one target in mind: the four MRAPs and the lone Humvee fleeing into the night.

From its vantage point on the hill, the creature's gaze shifted beyond its pursuing brethren, locking onto the distant lights of a city on the horizon. A smirk tugged at its blackened lips, an almost palpable sense of malevolence rolling off it as it contemplated the helplessness of the human city. Unlike the great walled city of Vale, this settlement stood vulnerable—no fortifications, no defenses.

This would be easy. Too easy.

It stepped forward, its claws digging into the earth, the taste of the humans' fear still lingering in the air. It wouldn't be long now. This city, these people—they wouldn't know what hit them.

How could they possibly stop what was coming?

…

---

"This is First Lieutenant Cole Harrison, US Army Third Recon! We have hostile forces inbound, east of the city. Origin unknown—strength estimated at over a hundred! Send everyone you've got, now!"

"Lieutenant Harrison, this is Eagle 1-3 and Eagle 1-4, copy that. Please confirm: Are you under attack by insurgent forces?"

"Negative! Hostiles are of unknown origin. I-I don't even know if they're human, for Christ's sake!"

"I said I don't fucking know! You want details? Come down here and take a look yourself! I'm transmitting our coordinates now- SHIT! These things are right on our asses!"

"Roger that. Coordinates received. Eagle 1-3 and 1-4 inbound. E.T.A., three minutes."

- Recording between First Lieutenant Cole and Eagle 1-3 during first contact.

---

…

Dorian leaned heavily against the mounted .50 cal on top of his crew's M1A5, nicknamed Aurora, the cold metal of the turret biting into his palms as he stared down the empty street. He exhaled slowly, frustration dripping from every breath, before glancing at his wrist, checking the time for what felt like the hundredth time. A groan escaped him.

They had been stuck guarding this damn street since midnight, but it felt like an eternity. To make matters worse, they'd been up since nine the previous morning, running on little more than adrenaline and caffeine. Their much-needed game day—Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 6, no less—had been ripped from their hands when some recon team sent out a distress call. Now, instead of fragging virtual enemies, they were stuck sitting in this metal beast, guarding a desolate street until the relief team—if they even showed up—could take over.

And Dorian had the unfortunate honor of sitting on top of it all.

'If the UN did its damn job for once, we wouldn't be stuck here in the first place,' he thought bitterly. But of course, that wasn't how his luck worked. Not at all.

At least things couldn't get any worse.

"All units, all units. Code Red, I repeat, Code Red. All available units are to report to the part of the city and take positions. We have a possible hostile contact approaching the city."

'Me and my big mouth,' Dorian grumbled internally as his mind snapped out of its sleepy haze. With his eyes wide open now, he slammed his fist onto the tank's hull, sending a reverberating clang that echoed through the interior, rudely awakening the rest of the crew.

"God damn it, Dorian!" groaned Colton Vannick, the loader, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "I was having a dream where I was banging your mom. Why'd you have to wake me up? I was just about to finish the jo—"

"I really don't need to hear about your failure to even pick up a man, Van-Dick," Dorian shot back dryly, fastening his helmet as the groggy feeling started to wear off. "Now load AP! We've got orders to move east. Something's coming, and apparently, we're gonna get some target practice."

That snapped Colton out of his sluggish state. "Target practice?" he muttered, now wide awake as he strapped on his helmet, the smirk on his face fading.

Meanwhile, the "Aurora" roared to life with a deep, mechanical growl as its engine rumbled beneath the steel hull. The vibrations pulsed through the tank, sending a shiver down its frame as it powered up, ready for action. Backing away from the sandbag bunker, the massive machine pivoted in place, its treads grinding against the asphalt with a sharp screech. With a swift 180-degree turn, Aurora surged forward down the main road, the city's desolate streets awaiting its arrival at the eastern front.

The eastern part of the city was bustling with activity as Dorian and his crew arrived in "Aurora." Soldiers, both American and No-Pats, were scrambling to set up makeshift defenses. Machine guns were mounted in foxholes and on rooftops, RPGs were loaded with anti-tank rounds, and dozens of rifles were trained on the horizon, prepared to fire at the first sign of trouble. It felt like the calm before a storm—an eerie, tense quiet that hinted at the chaos about to unfold.

"Looks like we're getting ready for World War Four," Dorian muttered, eyeing the preparations.

"Jesus Christ, can you shut the hell up and load an AP round?" Colton shot back, shaking his head.

"Hey, fuck you!"

"Love you too, buddy," Dorian quipped, earning a chuckle from Colton as he loaded the armor-piercing round into the 120mm cannon.

Dorian shifted, glancing at Caleb Harker, their driver. "You remembered to refuel the tank, right?"

"Calm down, Captain Paranoia," Caleb replied, hands steady on the controls. "We're in the green, and I've stashed extra fuel canisters in the back. You can thank me later for saving you from any actual exercise today."

"Hey, I'm not the one who scarfs down chips and Gatorade during lunch like it's your last meal!"

Caleb scoffed. "The water here tastes like ass. What else am I supposed to drink?"

Before Dorian could retort, Jackson Kade, the gunner, chimed in. "Maybe something that'll shut both of you up. Honestly, if we were this loud, the Russians wouldn't even need UAVs. They could hear us from across the damn border."

Dorian smirked. "Wouldn't be a problem if you actually hit something."

Jackson shot him a glare. "That was one time! Plus, at least I can hit targets. You've got the aim of a damn stormtrooper."

"Your mom said otherwise last nigh—" Dorian started.

"Both of you, shut it!" Jackson interrupted, flipping on the FLIR sensors as the tank rumbled forward.

"Hey! Since when were you the commander of this tank!?"

"Yeah, yeah, knock it off, asshats. We got incoming," Jackson muttered, his usual banter replaced with a steely focus as the crew snapped into action. Colton gripped another APFSDS shell, ready to load at a moment's notice. Caleb tensed, hands hovering over the controls, prepared to move the tank if things went sideways. Meanwhile, Jackson had his eyes locked down the sights, his fingers poised to unleash the full might of Aurora's 120mm cannon.

The city, perched on a slight elevation, offered a strategic view of the surrounding flat plains and rolling hills. Any soldier worth his salt would appreciate the advantage, but today, the defenders weren't just grateful—they were on edge. It was a miracle Third Recon had even managed to seize this position in the first place, and now it was the Coalition's job to hold it.

On the radar screens inside tanks and Humvees alike, five blips appeared—four MRAPs and a lone Humvee barreling toward them at breakneck speeds. Their IFF signals confirmed friendly status, but the manner in which they moved raised eyebrows.

Suddenly, the Humvee appeared over a hilltop, launching into the air like a bat out of hell, dirt and dust spraying in its wake. The vehicle slammed down, suspension creaking but holding together, before speeding toward the city. Moments later, the MRAPs followed suit, each one careening off the hills with such force that Dorian swore he saw the gunners atop them nearly lose their footing, heads jerking back violently as the vehicles crashed down onto the hard ground.

"Jesus, they're coming in hot," Dorian muttered. He wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that they had survived such reckless driving or whatever was chasing them to make them drive like that. "Like Jesus man. What the hell is their problem?"

"We're about to find out," Jackson muttered, his tone growing tense as the five vehicles continued their mad dash toward the city. But it wasn't the sight of the convoy that unnerved him—it was the sudden, subtle trembling beneath them. The ground seemed to pulse, and soon, the sights on the tank's targeting system began to vibrate.

"What the hell?" Jackson's voice cut through the growing sense of dread.

"What's going on, Jackson?" Caleb turned in his seat, eyes wide with concern. He didn't have to wait for an answer. The tank itself started to rumble, the vibrations shaking the entire crew as they instinctively gripped whatever they could for stability.

"Oh shit," Colton cursed, wide-eyed. "Don't tell me we're about to fight during an earthquake!"

"Colton, shut your damn mouth before you jinx us all!" Dorian barked over the increasing roar of the Abrams' engine and the rattling around them. His mind flashed back to stories he'd heard from No-Pats about fighting in the middle of category-five tornadoes and other insane conditions. He'd thought they were just yanking his chain, but now? Now it didn't seem so far-fetched.

"Caleb! Keep that engine hot!" Dorian ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "If we gotta book it, I'm not ending up like that old-ass vehicle from Star Battle where they fell into a sinkhole after that bomb went off!"

"For the last fucking time, it's called Star Wars!" Caleb shouted back, exasperated. But Dorian ignored him, letting the gunner and loader bicker while he focused on what mattered. He climbed up to the mounted .50 cal, quickly checking that it was properly loaded, his eyes scanning the ridge in the distance.

The ground trembled as a single creature crested the hill—an enormous, black-furred wolf with glowing red eyes and a bone-like mask covering its face, snarling as it descended. Its size was unnatural, towering over any ordinary predator, with claws sharp enough to shred through steel.

Another followed, and then another. Soon, a wave of them poured over the ridge—dozens, then hundreds, Beowolves swarming like an unstoppable tide of darkness. Their red eyes flickered like embers in the night, and their bone-plated bodies gleamed beneath the muted sky, each one more menacing than the last. The sight of their numbers caused Dorian's blood to run cold, a visceral reminder that they were vastly outnumbered by this Grimm horde that stretched endlessly over the horizon.

"Holy fuck! W-What the hell are those things!?" Jackson stammered, eyes wide as the creatures surged over the hill like a tidal wave—an unstoppable stampede of massive, snarling Beowolves charging down on them with terrifying speed, their red eyes glowing like demonic beacons.

"Fresh meat, that's what they are!" Dorian shouted, adrenaline slamming through his veins. "Gunner, light 'em up! Fire at the closest bunch and then shoot anything that moves! Loader, HE, NOW!"

Without hesitation, Dorian squeezed the trigger on the .50 cal, its thunderous roar joining the symphony of gunfire that erupted around them. The entire line of defenders opened up in unison—machine guns rattling from foxholes, rifles cracking from rooftops. The ground vibrated beneath the barrage, and the air was thick with tracers, bullets streaking through the sky like vengeful stars.

The first 120mm APFSDS shell fired from "Aurora" ripped through the pack, detonating with a deafening explosion that obliterated a cluster of Beowolves in a shower of black mist. Explosions followed, their impacts tearing into the charging horde as pieces of flesh and bone-like armor flew in every direction. Dozens of Beowolves were shredded by gunfire, their massive forms collapsing into the dirt, dissolving into nothingness.

But still, more came.

"UP!" Colton barked, slamming the heavy HE round into the breach of the 120mm smoothbore cannon with practiced precision. His voice echoed in the cramped confines of the tank.

"ON THE WAY!" Jackson yelled, the fire control systems locking onto the next wave of Beowolves. The gun recoiled with a violent jolt as the shell screamed through the air, hitting its mark dead-on. A violent explosion of shrapnel and debris engulfed the pack, sending chunks of black fur and white bone-like armor flying in all directions.

"Jesus! They keep coming like the Mongol horde!" Jackson cursed, staring at the mass of Grimm flooding over the hill.

"Give me a reference I actually get, jackass! UP!" Colton shouted again, pushing another shell into the chamber. The tank lurched as the autoloader whined into place, and Jackson immediately lined up the next shot.

"Gunner, eleven o'clock! Don't let those bastards hit the civvies!" Dorian ordered over the comms, his voice tense but sharp, the commander's cupola spinning to get a better view as the turret swiveled to the left. Jackson adjusted his sights, his fingers dancing across the controls.

"I got it! On the way!" Jackson called out, his calm voice in contrast to the chaos outside. The Abrams' cannon roared again, the turret jerking backward as the high-explosive round sailed into a cluster of Beowolves, detonating on impact. The explosion tossed a dozen of the monsters like ragdolls, sending them flying into the dirt. Dorian didn't wait—he swung the .50 cal into position and opened up, the heavy machine gun spittin rounds like a firehose.

"Driver, adjust position! Get us a better angle on that ridge!" Dorian ordered, his eyes on the moving horde.

"Roger, moving now!" Caleb replied, gunning the engine as the Abrams rolled forward with a low, guttural growl. Dust kicked up around them as the tank rumbled into a better position, gaining elevation for a cleaner shot.

The turret swiveled again, Jackson locking onto another group of the creatures.

"On the way!"

The cannon thundered once more, another HE shell tearing into the oncoming wave, sending limbs and bone shards spiraling into the air like it was some sort of cartoon.

Meanwhile, the humvee and the four MRAPs barreled into the defensive line, splitting off as planned. The Third Recon Team swung wide to the right, while the humvee skidded to a halt beside Dorian's tank, kicking up dirt and debris. The driver's window rolled down, and Joseph leaned out, shouting over the relentless gunfire and roaring explosions.

"Hey!" Joseph bellowed, his voice barely cutting through the chaos. "Where the hell do you want us!?"

Dorian, not missing a beat, squeezed off another burst from the .50 cal. "How the fuck should I know!? Ain't you supposed to report to your CO or something?" he shot back, eyes locked on the charging Grimm as they swarmed over the hills.

"We tried! All we're hearing on long-range is screaming and some moron yelling to hold our positions!" Joseph retorted, clearly exasperated.

"Son of a bitch!" Dorian spat, pausing just long enough to reload. "Alright, listen! Shift a few dozen meters left! Those damn things are trying to flank us. I don't want to be feeling the same shit Red Riding Hood's granny did when the big bad wolf took her down!"

"Roger that!" Joseph gave a quick, exaggerated salute, already shifting gears. "Try not to get eaten while we're moving, yeah?"

"Same to you, dumbass!" Dorian yelled back, eyes squinting through the dirt kicked up as the humvee sped off toward the left flank.

Dorian grumbled under his breath, dropping the .50 cal for a moment and grabbing his binoculars. He scanned the horizon, noticing a movement beyond the main horde. Something big. His brow furrowed as a low hum escaped his throat.

"What the hell is that...?" Dorian muttered, adjusting his binoculars to zoom in further. The blurry figure sharpened into view—another wolf-like creature, but this one wasn't charging like the rest. It stood upright on its hind legs, towering over the others, glaring at their position with a menacing stillness.

"Gunner! Target spotted! Range, one-thousand meters. Blow that bastard to bits!" Dorian barked, his voice tense with urgency.

"Gladly!" Jackson grinned as the turret swiveled toward the strange figure. "Range… one-thousand and twenty-fiv—"

"Just shoot the cock-sucker, would ya!?" Dorian snapped, impatient.

"Give me a fucking second, would ya?!" Jackson shot back, gripping the controls. "Plus, that's a lot coming from the local man-pleaser!"

Dorian scowled, rolling his eyes. "I-I—It was one fucking time, Jackson!"

"Yeah, yeah! ON THE FUCKING WAY!" Jackson screamed, firing with a satisfying jolt. The shell launched from the 120mm smoothbore cannon, arcing high into the sky. It whistled as it cut through the air, zeroing in on the unsuspecting target.

The Beowolf, however, was no mere drone of the horde. This one had been watching the battle unfold with a calculating, predatory eye. It stood apart from the chaos, observing the humans as they mowed down its brethren with an unsettling efficiency. It had anticipated losses, but not like this—this was slaughter. It had underestimated them, and now, with their numbers dwindling, the situation had become dire. She never said these humans were this deadly, not with such precision and brutality. It needed to warn her, to tell her what was coming.

But the Beowolf never got the chance.

The shell screamed closer, and in the next breath, it struck. A deafening explosion followed, engulfing the creature. Its massive form was obliterated on impact, reduced to a cloud of dust and bone-like shrapnel. The raw power of the HE round annihilated it, leaving nothing but a smoldering crater where the imposing beast once stood—its very essence scattered to the wind, turning its pronouns into "over-here" and "over-there."

"Target down!" Jackson shouted.

"Down's a fucking understatement, Jackson—you vaporized the damn thing!"

Jackson grinned, hands steady on the controls. "And I'll fucking do it again."

"And looks like you hit something important," Dorian remarked, watching as the Grimm horde hesitated. For a moment, the Beowolves seemed confused, their feral charge faltering as they realized the one that had stood on its hind legs, the presumed leader, was gone. Their pace didn't stop, but the attack lost its cohesion. What had been a deadly, coordinated rush now felt like a chaotic scramble, more desperate than ever.

"They're breaking formation!" Jackson noted, his eyes never leaving the sights.

"Command, this is Aurora," Dorian said into his radio, his tone steady but urgent. "Be advised, we've engaged and successfully neutralized what appeared to be a pack leader. Unsure if it was responsible for coordinating the charge, but it seems to have thrown the rest of them off their game. Their advance is looking a hell of a lot sloppier now."

"Copy that, Aurora," came the crackling response. "We're relaying that information to all allied units in the area of operations. Priority is now on eliminating any other potential H.V.T.s—take down leaders where possible. Over."

"Roger that, Command," Dorian acknowledged, settling back into the violent rhythm of battle as he cracked his neck and muttered to himself, "Back to our P.E.T.A.-pissing-off rampage…"

Before he could return to the fray, a scream from his left made him pause. Dorian turned to see the gunner from the humvee they'd seen earlier, hanging out of his turret, gleefully firing the mounted .50 cal like it was a carnival game.

"Haha! Sook it ye fuckin' basterds! Taste American lead, sent wi' love frae Scotland!" the red-headed gunner bellowed, his thick Scottish accent booming even over the chaos of gunfire and explosions. His laughter was wild, almost maniacal, as he emptied round after round into the Grimm.

Dorian shook his head, smirking despite himself. "Of course, the Scotsman's enjoying himself…" he muttered as he gripped his own .50 cal. He quickly fell back into the rhythm, the heavy vibrations of his weapon pulsing through him as he laid down suppressing fire. Explosions from HE rounds and bursts from mounted guns filled the air, but even with all the noise, Dorian could still hear the Scotsman rambling off to his side.

"God, I hope I don't have to listen to this the entire fight," Dorian thought, letting off another burst.

Thankfully, he didn't because I was running out of things related to this conversation.

"All units, this is Eagle Leader. We're red-hot and ready to provide CAS. Just give us a target, and we'll give you an early Fourth of July celebration," a confident female voice crackled over the comms. Her casual tone cut through the chaos, catching the attention of everyone in the thick of battle. A few soldiers cheered in response, relief palpable through their voices, but it was quickly drowned out by the continuing sounds of gunfire and explosions.

"Eagle Leader, this is Lieutenant Cole from Third Recon," Cole responded with urgency as he and his men continued to fire wildly at the incoming horde. "We've got a whole lot of those bastards charging down the eastern sector of the city! Targets will be marked with orange smoke! I repeat, targets marked with orange smoke!"

"Roger that, Lieutenant! No worries, we packed the best fireworks we could find!" the pilot shot back, her tone filled with confident humor.

"I don't doubt that!" Cole replied, cracking a small grin despite the situation before switching channels. His voice turned commanding again as he radioed the ground forces. "Checkpoint 2-9, do you copy? Over."

A brief pause, then a voice answered, "Loud and clear, sir."

"Do you have your standard-issue M325 grenade launcher on hand?" Cole asked, pacing slightly as he glanced at the swirling battlefield around him. There was a momentary silence before the reply came, almost hesitant.

"Affirmative, sir. Got the M325, and we've got orange smoke rounds too. I'm guessing you want us to mark those damn things for our fly-boys and girls?"

Cole allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, the kind that appeared when everything lined up just right. "Huh, you read my damn mind. Maybe I won't punish you guys too harshly after this, assuming you don't screw it up."

"Glad to hear that sir." a sarcastic voice quipped over the radio as Dorian glanced toward the humvee on their left. He spotted a man wearing thick glasses stepping out and rushing toward a nearby ditch. The guy looked more like a desk jockey than a soldier, fumbling as he jumped into the trench, adjusting his glasses with an awkward flick. He crouched, squinting down the sights of his grenade launcher, looking like he was trying to calculate some kind of perfect shot.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, muttering to himself, "What's this guy doing? Running ballistic equations?"

The bespectacled soldier, clearly overthinking it, finally fired. The grenade arced through the air, but instead of sailing gracefully into the swarm of charging Grimm like some tactical masterpiece, it struck a rusted light pole. Dorian watched, dumbfounded, as the grenade ricocheted with a hollow thunk, bouncing back toward them with terrifying precision.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Dorian whispered, eyes widening as the grenade continued its chaotic journey.

The errant round bounced off a rock, rebounded off the soldier's helmet with an almost comedic 'boink,' and finally skidded to a stop—right in front of Aurora, the massive tank looming over the battlefield.

"… Simon?"

"Y-Yes sir?"

"Did you just bounce a smoke grenade off a light pole without even trying to do so?"

"… Y-Yes sir."

"I honestly don't know if I should be angry, surprised, or both."

"How about you grab that damn thing and get it away from my tank!?" Dorian shouted, leaping off Aurora and sprinting toward the thick plume of orange smoke. The grenade was still hissing as he scooped it up, fully prepared to chuck it far from the vehicle.

"Dorian, stop!" Jackson's voice rang out over the headset.

"Not really a good time, Jackson!" Dorian snapped back, gripping the grenade tighter as he readied to throw.

"For fuck's sake, would you just stop for a second and listen?!" Jackson's voice was more urgent now, cutting through the chaos of gunfire and explosions around them.

Dorian spun around in frustration, glaring at the tank. "WHAT!? What could possibly be so important?!"

"Just load the damn thing into the barrel!" Jackson shouted as he lowered the tank's gun toward Dorian, the smoothbore cannon aimed directly at him.

Dorian clenched his jaw, half-impressed, half-furious. "You son of a bitch," he muttered, shaking his head as he tossed the smoking grenade into the open barrel with a satisfying thunk.

Without a second thought, Dorian bolted back behind Aurora, taking cover behind the massive metal beast as he slapped his hands over his ears.

"Yeah, because standing in front of a tank cannon without ear protection sounds like a great idea," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he looked directly at the camera. "What is this, some half-baked action flick? I'm not trying to blow out my eardrums with a smoke grenade!"

Awe dang it! Not another fourth-wall break!

J-Just go back to the story! OK!? Jeez man! Who are you? Deadpool!?

…

"You got it loaded in yet?" Jackson called out, glancing over at Colton, who was busy fiddling with the smoke grenade.

Colton hefted the grenade and slid it into an empty SABOT casing, which was scrawled with crude messages and drawings, some of which would make even a sailor blush. "You know, I thought we were saving this one for that cocky TRP tank ace, the one that always runs his mouth over long-range?"

"It's fine," Jackson replied with a smirk. "We've got three more for him. But right now, I think we should roll out the red carpet for those mutts. Give 'em a 'Welcome to Afghanistan' they won't forget!"

The crew erupted in a round of cheers and laughter, even Colton cracked a grin as he loaded the casing into the 120mm smoothbore cannon.

"UP!" Colton called out, slapping the breach closed with satisfaction.

"ON THE WAY!"

With a thunderous roar, the Abrams' cannon belched the smoke grenade into the sky. A thick trail of orange smoke followed its arc before it landed, not in the midst of the horde as planned, but directly on the head of an unfortunate Beowolf. The impact was brutal, and the creature crumpled like a house of cards, killed instantly by the sheer force of the canister's weight.

The surrounding Beowolves slowed in confusion, their menacing charge interrupted. One curious wolf padded forward, sniffing at the billowing orange cloud. It snorted in distaste, shaking its head as if the smoke were a bad smell rather than a threat. What were these strange humans doing now? The acrid scent hung in the air, more annoying than anything. Sure, it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't enough to make the Grimm retreat.

Did the humans finally run out of tricks up their sleeves?

Then, it heard it.

The faint thumping started as a distant rumble, barely noticeable against the pounding of the Beowolves' feet on the desert ground. But it grew louder, more distinct, like the rapid thud of helicopter blades slicing through the air. It was an unmistakable sound—one that made every soldier's heart race faster.

"Say your prayers, little one. Don't forget, my son. To include everyone."

Suddenly, the distant hum of music floated through the air, syncing with the rhythmic chopping of rotors. As the lyrics of Metallica's Enter Sandman grew louder, some of the defenders lifted their heads in disbelief, recognizing the tune that swelled through the battlefield like a battle hymn.

"I tuck you in, warm within. Keep you free from sin. 'Til the Sandman, he comes."

Morale surged through the defensive lines like wildfire, lifting weary spirits. Soldiers glanced skyward, the realization sinking in.

"Sleep with one eye open. Gripping your pillow tight."

Then they appeared. Over the northern ridgeline, five AH-64 GX Apaches swept into view, skimming just above the hilltops, menacing silhouettes against the sun. Their Hydra 70 rocket pods gleamed, locked and loaded, while the chain guns gleamed like instruments of divine wrath. The pilots lined up their shots, ready to rain hellfire on the remaining Grimm that had dared to stick around.

"Exit light!"

The lead Apache was the first to strike, its M230 chain gun roaring to life. The 30mm rounds tore through the battlefield, shredding the wolves like paper, black mist exploding into the air as bodies were ripped apart, holes the size of manhole covers punched through their twisted forms.

"Enter night!"

The second and third Apaches followed suit, their chain guns spitting hot lead with terrifying precision. The middle gunships let loose short, devastating bursts from their Hydra 70 rocket pods. Each rocket screamed toward its target, hitting the ground with brutal accuracy and sending shockwaves through the desert. Explosions rippled across the battlefield, erupting in columns of fire that consumed everything in their path.

"Take, my hand! We're off to never, never land!"

As the music reached its thunderous crescendo, the final Apaches unleashed their remaining payloads in a synchronized attack. The battlefield was engulfed in a storm of fire and metal, Hydras raining down like the wrath of gods. Craters formed in an instant, the ground erupting as Grimm were vaporized on impact, their forms obliterated as if they had never existed. The once-fierce charge of Beowolves was now reduced to smoldering craters and swirling ash.

The defenders, who had erupted into cheers at the arrival of air support, now roared even louder in celebration of their hard-fought victory over the Beowolves. The battlefield, once a desperate struggle for survival, had transformed into a moment of triumph. Soldiers whooped and hollered, clapping each other on the back, their fatigue momentarily forgotten in the wave of adrenaline and relief.

Even the locals, who had been watching from the safety of their homes, joined in the celebration. Seeing it more than a military victory for the Coalition, and somewhat more like a victory against the forces of evil from legend.

Well that's a bit ironic.

"All units, this is Eagle Leader. Area is clear, no signs of any additional hostile units. Will begin patrolling the perimeter, over."

"Solid copy Eagle Leader. Interrogative, what the hell took you guys so long?"

"Sorry for that sir, had to regroup before moving in. R.O.E. states that all friendly aircraft within the A.O must do so before engaging enemy forces or providing C.A.S. missions, over."

"I… Roger that. Thanks again for the help."

"No problem bossman! Always happy to lend our boys on the ground a hand!"

"And that's much obliged." Cole said as their voices came to a halt

"Still wonder what the hell took them so long" Dorian huffed as he leaned back in his seat. Exhausted after what just happened as he felt like he was going to collapse and pass out then and there.

"Eh, they probably got lost on the way. Fucking Air Force and their rich kids pilots."

"You do know that those were our boys? Right?"

"Whatever! They're both the same!" Colton proclaimed, sparking a fresh round of bickering inside the tank. Dorian could hear the rising voices of the crew starting to squabble, but he was beyond caring. With a heavy sigh, he climbed out of the Aurora, landing on the ground with a thud, then collapsing against the tank's tracks. The muted arguments inside were at least a little easier to ignore from out here.

As he leaned back, Dorian scanned the scene. Around him, soldiers were already unwinding as if the battle they'd just survived was a mere footnote. Some were tearing into their MREs, others sipping from canteens, cracking jokes, and grinning like the life-or-death firefight with the wolves had been a training exercise instead of pure chaos.

"Just another day in the office," he mused to himself, shaking his head at their nonchalance. He didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned at how quickly everyone adjusted to the madness.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout. Turning his head, Dorian spotted the soldier who had botched the smoke grenade earlier—now being yanked around by the collar of their uniform like a ragdoll, their commanding officer absolutely letting them have it. The poor guy was being tossed back and forth like he'd personally invited the wolves to dinner.

Dorian shook his head with a mix of pity and amusement. That was definitely not a debriefing he'd want to be part of.

As the adrenaline started to drift away, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him. His eyelids grew heavy, his muscles ached, and for the first time in hours, he let himself relax.

Sure, he hated Afghanistan. Hated the heat, the sand, the constant feeling of being on edge. But damn, the morning weather did make for some great napping conditions.

---

Alright! Well, this is one hell of a chapter I wrote.

Heavens, I really need to fix my sleep schedule after this.

Anyways, we got new characters, some more lore and backstories on what happened, and looks like our coalition folks have finally gotten into the action by giving those poor beowolves a small taste of good ol' Lockheed Martin

Now, anyway. I got some good news and bad news.

Good news, I'm starting work on a new story called "Rising Force." I've recently have fallen in love with Half Life: Opposing Force once again and decided "Hey! Why don't we put it into another anime that I enjoy?"

So after some careful decision, I have made my choice on which anime to have it in!

Rising of the Shield Hero!

Now, of course, I'm still thinking it over. I've already started a beginning chapter so that you guys can have a taste of what'll happen in it. But if you've got som suggestions on what should happen in it. Then don't worry about sending me a DM!

Bad news, recently, I'm starting to take some courses that are college level and since I'm a sophomore, I'm going to be a bit busy. Don't worry, I'll try to keep up with my non-existent schedule. But things might be a bit rushed.

Anyways, it's currently 11 PM and I must sleep. Good night/day wherever you are. And have a good day!

Corpsman Halo. Out.